Some Might Say
by Liisi Laukkanen
Summary: Heather Barrett, originally born Heather Potter to a teenage Lily and James, is in for a rude awakening when a world she'd long refused to be a part of ever since she was given up for adoption as a baby decides she no longer has a choice - and when she quickly begins to fall for a man from said world. Can she learn to adapt to this strange new world? [Sirius/OC]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First attempt at a Harry Potter fic, brought to you by my love of Sirius Black. The books were my childhood but it has, admittedly, been a few years since I read them (I'm in the process of digging up my old copies - specifically the fifth one, which is when this fic takes place) so I'll definitely end up making a mistake or two, and it likely won't end up being too strictly canon compliant - I'm aiming more for entertainment than accuracy, so I'll have to ask you guys to be lenient when it comes to suspending disbelief. As things stand, for the sake of the plot, I've already altered ages and timing a little - for this little scenario to work out, James and Lily would have to have gotten together at least one or two years earlier than they do in the books, and the remaining Marauders would be a year younger or so than they are in the book (I think).**

 **Honestly, I know it's a cheesy trope/idea but it won't leave me alone so I have to write it to get it out of my system. Hopefully I manage to do it with some amount of originality - or have it be entertaining, at the very least. Title is taken from the Oasis song of the same name.**

* * *

"A _sister_?"

Molly Weasley was ashen as she sank into one of the dining chairs in Grimmauld Place.

"It's not possible," Arthur echoed his wife's sentiments, looking around the table as though waiting for a punch-line.

"It is entirely possible," Dumbledore said simply "Seeing as it's true."

The faces around the table all slowly turned to Remus and Sirius for confirmation. The two shared a reluctant look before the Remus sighed.

"James and Lily were very young - as was their relationship. _Sixteen_ , for Merlin's sake. They made a...An _informed decision_."

"A judgement call," Sirius mumbled.

"You _knew_?" Molly's voice was dangerously close to a shriek "Both of you?! And you never saw fit to tell that poor boy?"

"Of course we wanted to tell him," Remus sighed "But-"

"It's not possible," Snape snapped from the corner, speaking for the first time since the meeting began "There cannot be a daughter. Did you forget that I attended Hogwarts with you? If such a...a _thing_ had occurred, we would all well know about it. It would be obvious. Wormtail is lying - he must be."

"A bit late for an introduction to the wonders of concealment charms aren't we, Snive-"

Sirius began to snap, none too fond of being called a liar, only to be interrupted by Dumbledore.

"Enough."

The word was said softly and without malice, but it might as well have been a shout for the way it silenced the room. Sirius' jaw clenched but he stopped all the same, instead choosing to resolutely return the black look Snape was sending his way.

"We kept it quiet, covered for them when possible, managed it the best we could. Kept those who knew to a minimum - the Marauders, Albus, a few select professors, the families...Lily, of course," Remus was the one to steer the discussion back on track.

"So where _is_ she?" Molly asked "This sister?"

"There was talk of the Potters taking her. Or the Evans'. They could look after her while James and Lily were at Hogwarts, then by the time they finished their studies they could…" Remus sighed "Well, it didn't work out that way."

"Evidently not," Snape spoke.

"The complications involved in such an arrangement would've been numerous," Dumbledore picked up where Remus left off "Especially seeing as they wished to conceal the child from their peers. Teenagers can be cruel, especially so in a situation such as this. What could they do? Have the grandparents pose as the girl's true parents only to reveal the truth once they left Hogwarts? Rush back home each holiday to care for an infant they were sorely unprepared for?"

"There was a muggle couple who were old friends and neighbours of the Evans' - a couple who, conveniently enough, couldn't conceive. Seemed like a perfect idea at the time. They could take the girl, be her legal guardians, but Lily and James could still see her," Remus continued once he could see the nods in agreement towards Dumbledore's point "The plan was never to separate them, you see. The child was to grow up knowing full well who her real parents were - with a support system in place for when her magic showed."

"They didn't tell the muggles that last part," Sirius snorted.

"I'm sensing a 'but'," Tonks muttered.

"The bastards moved, didn't they?" he replied "Lily gave birth in the early summer, and by the time she came back from Hogwarts for Christmas they were gone, taking the girl - Heather - with them."

This revelation was met with silence. Remus watched Sirius' increasing agitation with a knowing look, Snape stared straight ahead, face an impassive mask, while everybody else seemed lost for words.

"That poor girl," Molly eventually breathed, tears in her eyes.

"James wasn't exactly unfazed either," Sirius muttered.

"They _stole_ her _child_? Why wasn't something done?!" she ignored his muttering.

"What could be done, Molly?" Remus sighed "It was all perfectly legal - by the laws of both worlds. The agreement for them to stay in touch was just that; an agreement. Nothing more. Nothing binding. It was...Well, it was taken for granted that they'd keep their word. They trusted them."

"The Ministry would never back a move to do anything about it. It would likely be viewed as safer for the adoptive parents to be treated as the parents of a muggleborn would be, rather than stoking frictions between muggles and wizards," Kingsley nodded thoughtfully "Although surely once the girl started Hogwarts, somebody would have told her the truth?"

By ' _somebody_ ', it was perfectly clear he was directing his words towards Dumbledore. The headmaster sighed, pushing his spectacles further up his nose.

"Miss Potter - or rather, Miss Heather Barrett, as she is known now - chose not to attend Hogwarts."

"Beauxbatons, then?" Tonks frowned "Strange choice."

"It appears not. She remained in muggle schooling. For all intents and purposes, the girl lives as a muggle."

This was the straw that broke the hippogriff's back, with the table's occupants bursting into an uproar of outrage. The only exception, other than Dumbledore, was Remus, who sat calmly. It didn't take long for Sirius to notice, his surprise sparking into anger.

"You knew?" he asked, tone full of accusations.

"Of course I did, Sirius," Remus replied "I taught at Hogwarts. Did you think I wouldn't have tried to seek her out?"

Sirius paused. In truth, it had never occurred to him. With a flash of guilt, he realised he hadn't even thought to look for the girl himself in the two years following his escape from Azkaban. His focus had been on his godson. He supposed that was the second way he'd wronged the girl - the first being before she was even born.

"You're telling us she _refused_ magical schooling? Is that even allowed?" Molly's voice cut above the din, bringing the attention back to Dumbledore.

"We cannot force attendance," the headmaster replied calmly "Miss Barrett is aware of our world to an extent, and has some limited knowledge of her parentage, but decided not to be part of it. Such is her right."

"Perhaps it would be better if attendance was compulsory," Sirius pointed out "The girl has Death Eaters out looking for her and what to defend herself with? Her fists and her wits?"

A few of the table's occupants murmured in agreement.

"All the Dark Lord has at present is Wormtail's assurances, but they are working to find the midwife who delivered the girl. Seeing as the muggles who adopted her would have naturally taken her to muggle doctors from thereon, and under a name unknown to them, there is little that they might trace from our own medical records, should they obtain access," Snape said "They _are_ moving quickly, however…"

The potions professor seemed to have gotten over his shock, face schooled carefully back into its usual impassive mask. He would never be the type to go as far as to outright say things like "there is hope", but his implications were clear.

"So we need to find her first then," Sirius said, determination shining in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm quite aware of where she is," Dumbledore said, now clearly acting deliberately oblivious to the fresh wave of outrage that this sparked "I have been keeping an eye on her ever since the death of the Potters. But now it seems there is a necessity to place guards on her. Not to her knowledge, of course. The less Miss Barrett knows for now, the better."

Every time Dumbledore referred to her as "Miss Barrett", Sirius had to bite his tongue to stop himself from correcting the man and insisting her call her "Potter". It was almost an insult to Lily and James' memory, to refer to their daughter by the name of the bastards who had stolen her.

"For now?" Tonks echoed.

"At this point, bringing her into our world is unavoidable. If Voldemort knows of her, I see no reason why Harry should not."

* * *

The music was deafening, but that was the point of a place like this. The nightclub was small, dark, filled with smoke, and easier to miss than notice in the alleyway it was located in. The walls were plastered with as many photos of muggle rock bands as possible, some of whom Sirius even recognised, and the floor was so sticky that it felt like every step he took was doing its best to rob him of his shoes. Under other circumstances, or perhaps back in his Hogwarts days, Sirius might have enjoyed it, but under _these_ circumstances, he had other things on his mind. On the bright side, Remus looked even more out of place than he did, despite being similarly dressed in the muggle clothing they'd procured, which gave him a good chuckle whenever he spotted the man hovering uncomfortably towards the side of the room looking very much like somebody's parent. What he didn't know was if the discomfort was due to their surroundings, or due to girl on the grimy stage.

While it was common knowledge that Harry was a dead-ringer for James, with the exception of his eyes, Heather Potter (for he refused to think of her as _Barrett_ ) was a mix of both of her parents. In the muggle photograph that Dumbledore had provided them with, she had looked very much like Lily. Now, however, her red hair had been dyed black, taking away some of the resemblance. As he watched her, Sirius couldn't help but go back and forth on which he thought she was most like.

She stood to the left, as she had the first time they'd seen her in person the previous night, head bowed as she plucked out a rhythm on the haggard bass guitar slung low against her hips. She looked at the ground more than she did at the small crowd, tightly packed crowd gathered - the few times she did raise her head, her eyes remained lowered. On the seldom occasions that they weren't, they flashed a green matching that of her brother's exactly. Her bone structure was that of her father's, all sharp lines and mischief, but her facial features themselves held Lily's softness. It was like seeing two ghosts at once up on that stage, all depending on her expression at the time. Her smirks and glares were James', without a doubt, but her smiles (which were far rarer, from what he'd seen so far) were her mother's.

In a way, Sirius was relieved that she wasn't the carbon copy that people proclaimed his godson to be. He loved the boy dearly, but there were days when the resemblance was difficult to witness. A blessing and a curse; for even though it reminded him that the boy was a piece of his best friend, it also reminded him of said best friend's absence - and it was something Sirius hardly needed reminding of.

The singer, a lanky blond man, continued to wail, growl and shriek into the microphone. At one point he approached Heather, pressing himself up against her back with a sleazy grin. It wasn't so much the action itself that had Sirius frowning, but the way her lips thinned in return as she stepped towards the edge of the stage to get away from the man, eventually going so far as to put one foot on the barrier separating the stage from the crowd, rising to her tiptoes on the other so as little of her was on the actual stage as possible. A few hands reached out from the crowd to grab at her legs, but she barely seemed to notice. The singer gave a smug smirk towards the back of her head, but otherwise backed off. Across the room, Sirius noticed Remus fixing the man with a distasteful look of his own.

It wasn't until the band had retreated from the stage and the next one was up (the one the crowd had actually gathered to see, if their reaction was anything to go by) that Remus joined Sirius and they turned their attention to the small stall at the back that Heather now sat at with the guitarist, a tall beefy man riddled with tattoos. Leaning back in the plastic chair, she chatted animatedly to the man at her side as she fiddled idly with a pack of cigarettes. T-shirts were lined up on the table in front of them, along with a stack of CDs and what looked like signed photographs. They didn't seem to be making many sales.

"I don't like this," Remus sighed.

"It's more crowded and noisy than I'd have liked, but even if they found her here, they wouldn't do anything in front of so many people. Not yet. They'd need to be more powerful - or more desperate."

"Not that," he shook his head 'Not that _that_ helps. Look at her, Padfoot. She's awfully thin, and she could barely stay on her feet up there."

The same could be said for most in the room, but Sirius could see his point. There did seem to be a difference between whatever was normal here and Heather's appearance. The man at her side was equally dishevelled and worn, but he didn't have the dark circles under his eyes that she did, and his eyes themselves were less glazed over. At least she seemed more at ease without that singer around. The frown on her face while during the incident on stage had made her seem older than her twenty years. Last he'd seen, the singer had been pulling a pretty redhead in the direction of the toilets.

"What would they say if they were alive to see this?" Remus sighed wearily "What would _Harry_ say, if we'd agreed to bring him?"

Sirius' jaw clenched and he said nothing, ignoring the thoughts that insisted they'd failed the woman who wasn't even aware they were watching her now. It would be a lie if he said he regretted refusing his godson's pleas to join them that night. He'd wanted to give in, especially given how lucky he was that Harry was even still talking to him after finding out the knowledge he, Remus and Dumbledore had chosen to withhold. However, it had been an entire war in itself to even be here himself. For now Sirius just had to comfort himself with the fact that, in all likelihood, they'd be bringing Heather directly to her brother before long.

* * *

Heather cursed, using the hand that wasn't lugging her bass to pull her jacket around herself as if it would do anything to shield her bare legs from the bitter cold. The leather skirt she wore had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it was stiff and annoying and it wouldn't bloody stop riding up and she couldn't wait to swap it for a pair of fluffy pyjama trousers. It was late - she'd had to sprint to get the final bus of the night - and the dead streets had her feeling jumpy. It didn't help that all of the streetlights in the area seemed to glow more of an orange light than a white one, casting the streets in a dim glow rather than actually brightening much. Usually it didn't bother her much, but tonight it just felt, well, _spooky_. Like there were eyes on her.

Gritting her teeth and deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, she picked up her pace and moved her pen knife from her jacket pocket to her sleeve. The only thing of value she had on her was her bass, and she'd be damned if she'd let some mugging bastard have that. Her flat was in a bit of a rough area of North London - but the nicer side of it, at least. The buildings were cleaner and newer on this side, but the people were the same, and she'd long lost count of the amount of leering men she'd ignored cat-calls from as she made her way home at night, picking up her pace while trying to keep any hint of anxiety from her face. On the odd occasion she'd be particularly unlucky and the cat-callers would decide she was worth pursuing, dogging her footsteps and growing increasingly frustrated at her decision to openly ignore them. It was just a feature of the area - one all of her female neighbours resolutely endured and nervously laughed off. At least it meant the rent was cheaper.

However, a nagging feeling told her that this wasn't what was happening tonight. There had been no calls, no whistles, no leers. Hell - no _people_. The whole situation set her teeth on edge in a way that didn't feel like paranoia. Usually she relished empty streets. It made her feel like the night was her own. Tonight, however, she was certain she could feel eyes on her, and the fact that the owner of said eyes had yet to reveal themselves couldn't mean anything good. With little else to do, she tightened her grip on the knife and pushed on, focusing on thoughts of cups of tea and the blankets piled on her bed.

After what felt like a lifetime, she was through the doors of her apartment block. She was too focused on her various aches and pains, along with how damn cold she was, to pay much mind to the pink-haired woman who paused to hold the door for her on her way in.

* * *

 **A/N: I feel like I should mention that this story is going to touch upon things like addiction/substance abuse (drugs and alcohol) as well as mental health issues (depression and anxiety in particular), along with mentions of past dub-con (I'll put a warning for this in the specific chapter itself), so if reading these themes would negatively affect you then please don't continue reading. I'm hoping it won't be all as dark as I'm making it sound, though. There will definitely also be buckets of snark and fluff mixed in, to keep things bearable.**

 **I know it could easily be Mary-Sue-esque to have the OFC be in a band, so I'm trying to counteract that by having them be pretty unsuccessful and putting more of the focus on the darker side of the alternative-y subculture - it's more of a 'naive dream going down the toilet' scenario than a 'they're the next Guns n' Roses' thing. As far as my plans go, the band itself/performances etc. won't feature very heavily in the story beyond being mentioned.**

 _ **Finally**_ **as much as I love Gary Oldman, I definitely think Sirius was cast older in the movies than he is in the books, and I always tend to picture book!Sirius as looking similar to (if not a slightly older version of) David Oakes as Juan Borgia in the later seasons of The Borgias. I'll put a link or two on my profile to the specific look I personally have in mind when I write this, but it's up to you guys what you want to picture - whatever rocks your socks.**

 **Now that I'm done with my habit of being way too chatty in A/Ns, I hope you guys enjoyed!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: In which Sirius and Heather meet. I intend for things to really pick up in the next chapter – this is mainly just getting to grips with her relationship with her bandmates and setting a bit of a foundation.**

* * *

"You have an admirer," Scott commented at Heather's side.

"He can join all of the others," she gestured to the empty space in front of their table.

Heather didn't bother to look up to see whoever their guitarist was referring to. He had a habit of teasing her much like an older brother would, and tonight she wasn't in the mood for it. Nobody had bought any merch the night before - well, that's what Darren, their _charming_ lead singer, had claimed. She'd been dumb enough to let the others convince her to let him man the stand alone that night, and she was pretty certain he'd deemed it unnecessary to share the earnings afterwards and that his 'no sales' alibi was a pile of BS. No earnings meant no food - and, less importantly (or more importantly, depending on her mood), no buzz. Four pills remained, her fingertips tracing them idly through her jeans pocket every so often. She was saving them for an emergency. For when the low moods or the panic set in - whichever chose to appear first.

"No, really, I think he's in love," Scott snickered.

Knowing she'd find no peace until she gave in, Heather heaved a sigh and followed Scott's line of vision. Then she groaned.

"Oh come on you sick bastard, he's like twelve," she rolled her eyes "Is he even old enough to be in here?"

In truth, he was definitely older than twelve, but that was how they referred to anybody even slightly younger than themselves. The boy was standing to the side of the room, doing his very best to pretend he wasn't looking at them. He had a mop of messy black hair, and glasses that made her wonder if he was a John Lennon fan, but what struck her most was how ill at ease he looked. When he noticed her returning his gaze he froze like a deer in headlights, but the look on his face wasn't quite embarrassment. If he were a bit older, or if he seemed like more of an ass, she might have raised an eyebrow at him, or simply ignored him. Instead she gave a slightly confused yet polite smile. He didn't return it, but continued to watch her with great curiosity. Heather broke the eye contact first when she noticed a man shoving through the crowd towards the boy.

"Ooooh somebody got busted," Scott said in regard to the spectacle.

His meaning was clear the moment the boy noticed his pursuer - it was the universal look of a teenager who had been caught doing something they shouldn't. To her surprise, however, he didn't seem to make any effort to appear contrite. If anything, he straightened up and gave a defiant look to the man who approached him - his father, maybe? The man had his back to Heather as, instead of unleashing some sort of parental fury, he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and began talking to him intently, but calmly.

Quickly losing interest, and feeling robbed of the potential entertainment of a big scene, she returned her attention back to the notebook in hand. Sensing that she was in no mood for his jokes that night, Scott returned to the task of replacing the strings on his guitar, although she felt his gaze flicker to her every now and then. Heather felt a small amount of guilt streak through her chest, along with pure gratitude. Nights like tonight reminded her why Scott was her favourite of her bandmates, and certainly her closest friend of the three. If it were their drummer, Quinn, at her side he'd be grumbling and taking mood personally. And if it were Darren...Well. Heather preferred not to think about Darren at all, whenever possible.

Trying to force her sour mood to brighten, she turned to Scott with a sigh, tapping her pen against the paper "Any good rhymes for 'rapid'?"

It was an olive branch – a silent apology for her mood – which he accepted.

"Vapid?"

"Darren won't sing words he doesn't know the meaning of," she muttered, earning a snort of agreement.

Not that he'd sing many of her songs at all, really. If it wasn't an opportunity to do his best Axl Rose impression, he had little interest in singing it. It was a point of great tension between them - Heather didn't want to spend her life playing cover songs. What was the point of that?

"Acid?" she suggested.

"Too obvious," Scott shook his head.

"Blasted?"

They both looked up at the new voice and its suggestion, Heather blinking in surprise to see the kid from earlier standing across the table. He appeared sheepish - almost shy, even - but he did a good job at hiding it, except for how he fidgeted, fingertips pulling on the cuffs of his worn grey hoodie.

"Blasted…" she considered before nodding with a smile "That works. Thanks! I can't promise you any royalties, though."

The boy blinked.

"Y'know, when we make it big," she gestured between herself and Scott.

"Oh," he nodded and gave a small laugh, snapping out of whatever confusion he'd been in "That's alright - I'll manage without."

Forcing herself into her best customer service persona (which probably wasn't a particularly good one), she snapped the notepad shut and reached under her chair for the cash box they kept.

"How can I help? You want a CD or do you just need directions to the bathroom?"

She was only half-joking on that one - sometimes it felt like they gave directions more than they made sales. Heather always did her best to push their music, though. It was one of three things they offered, along with t-shirts and signed prints. The t-shirts she didn't mind so much, but she cringed at the sight of the prints every time. Surely it was in poor taste to charge money for such a thing before they'd even earned much success? The idea in general of selling photographs of herself just seemed odd. Of course, it had been Darren's idea. It seemed "lead singer syndrome" was a real thing, and he'd suffered from early onset. At least the photo itself wasn't terrible - she stood in the back of the shot, appearing even paler in black and white, head tilted with a wry grin on her face. To her left stood Scott and Quinn looking various degrees of apathetic while Darren flipped off the camera with his face screwed up in his best Sid Vicious impersonation.

The boy picked up one and she did her best not to look disappointed.

"How much are these?" he asked.

Ignoring Scott's smug smirk, as he was no doubt taking this as evidence of his claims that the kid had a crush on her, she glanced around to make sure Darren himself was nowhere near. She didn't spot him, but she did notice the man who she'd assumed to be the boy's father watching them like a hawk. Satisfied that their singer was nowhere to be found, she shook her head.

"Just take it," she waved a hand.

She may have been in sore need of money, but she refused to stoop to the depths of extorting it from a teenager. Especially one who, for whatever reason, was looking at her like she was capable of crapping solid gold. In the back of her mind she almost dared to hope that maybe they were getting to the point of gaining a dedicated fan-base.

"Are you sure?" he blinked, hand still hovering over his pocket.

"Positive," she replied, squashing down the part of her that was shouting at her to accept the money "Honestly, it's no big deal. Take it."

"Thank you," he nodded, holding it to his chest.

Heather was expecting him to turn and leave then, but instead he glanced back at the man he was with before turning back to her. The man still watched them intently, but there was more interest on his face than parental disapproval.

"That your dad waiting for you?" she asked, if only to prevent the silence between them from becoming awkward.

"No - godfather," the boy shook his head, revealing a lightning shaped scar on his forehead as he did so.

Heather almost commented on it, but in the end decided it might be best not to. The last thing she wanted to do was to give the kid a complex. For a moment it looked like he might say more on the matter before he seemed to change his mind, and instead introduced himself.

"I'm Harry," he leaned across the table, holding his hand out.

"Heather," she shook his hand, leaning forward "This is Scott."

Scott mimicked her action, nodding at him but saying nothing.

"I...I should probably go," he said, casting a reluctant glance back to his godfather "Will you be here again?"

He addressed her more than he did Scott.

"Most weeknights, some Saturdays if we're lucky," Scott answered for her, plucking one of their flyers with their dates from the wall to hand to him "All the way up 'til September."

Their little "residency" had been courtesy of Darren's father - the owner of the club, and the reason Heather found herself feeling obligated to hold her tongue against his bullshit. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was to be blacklisted by every venue in the city due to his family's long list of contacts.

With a final nod and a muttered goodbye, Harry was gone.

"That was _adorable_ ," Scott teased once he was out of earshot.

"Piss off," Heather snorted, shaking her head.

"Maybe it's the dad who has the hots for you," he speculated "He keeps looking at you, you know. Do people really still use their kids to pick up girls?"

Heather didn't bother to correct him by pointing out the man wasn't his father, nor did she dignify his teasing by checking to see if he really was looking at her. It was only when he twisted one of the tuning pegs on his guitar far more harshly and dramatically than he knew he should of that she looked up, unsurprised when the string broke and narrowly missed his eye.

"Mother of _fuck_ ," he groaned dramtically before turning to her "I'll give you a twenty if you do it for me?"

"As if you don't know how to re-string a guitar," she sighed, knowing full well what he was up to.

"Not as good as you do," he batted his eyelashes - a move which, frankly, looked ridiculous on a man of his size " _Please_?"

After fixing him with an unamused look for no less than a full minute, Heather sighed and accepted the guitar from him. He'd just slip a twenty in her bag when she wasn't looking, if not. At least this way it felt more like money earned than pure charity - _and_ it meant she could happily kiss sobriety goodbye for another couple of weeks.

* * *

A week passed with no appearance from Harry, and the boy was all but forgotten to Heather. Even Scott had ceased his teasing for her good deed in not charging the kid anything for the print. Darren, however, never ceased his teasing - if it could even be called that - and it was wearing incredibly thin for Heather.

All four of them were at the booth that night - for Heather manned it most nights, and when Darren was there she'd beg Scott to join them as a sort of buffer. Quinn would then join them solely for the purpose of not feeling left out.

"We still need to work out the set-list for next week," Heather reminded, opening her notebook to a fresh page.

"Nothing wrong with the one we've got," Darren shrugged, foot kicking rhythmically on the leg of her chair "Is there?"

"There wouldn't be if we were Guns n' Roses, but as it is, we're mostly playing their songs - hell, even most of the ones that aren't theirs aren't ours either. We have _two_ original songs on the list so far. _Two_."

Heather did her best not to get annoyed, but it was a conversation they'd had so many times that she could already feel her ire rising.

"Nobody wants to hear original songs," he waved a hand dismissively "Not _those ones_ , at least."

Scott sighed and hung his head back, well versed in what was to follow.

"And nobody wants to sign a band that only does covers," Heather retorted, practically going off of a script due to how many times they'd had this discussion.

This time, however, she attempted to go on the charm offensive and stroke his ego "Darren, we all know you can sing a stellar cover of _Mr. Brownstone_ , but Axl didn't get to where he is today by singing AC/DC, did he?"

"She wrote some really good stuff last week, man, you should take a look," Scott added and she sent him a grateful look.

"No, no, if we're going to talk about what could be done differently, let's talk about you," Darren sauntered around her and sat on the table in front of her, leaning forward "You have to start dressing better for the stage, H."

Heather pushed her chair back to put some distance between them "Are you going to start telling Quinn what to wear now, too?"

" _Quinn_ can wear whatever he wants," a nasty smirk spread over his thin lips - the smirk that always had her feeling sick to her stomach "He's indispensable to this band. But you? Anyone can play bass. _Not_ anyone can play a bass and have a rack like yours. How much more shit do you think we'd sell if you'd show it a little?"

"Darren," Scott sighed as Heather glared.

"C'mon, man," their singer snorted, leaning back on his hands "We both know there's only one reason anyone wants to see a woman on a stage - and music's got nothing to do with it."

"Fuck this," Heather breathed, shaking her head "We'll play the same one as last week, then. And the week after that. And after that. Then when we're _fifty_ and still playing this _shithole_ , don't come crying to me."

Standing up, she kicked her chair backwards and made to leave the booth in the direction of the bar. She flinched when a hand closed around her wrist. Darren was looking down at her, face all perfect innocence even as he snorted at her attempts to pull herself from his grasp.

"Come on, Heather," he said softly, leaning in close "We both know...that I know...that you have a great body. Seems a shame not to let it benefit us. How many guys do you think you could lure over here if you'd just shake your-"

"Get. The _fuck_. Off of me," she bit out, unable to look at him as she stared hard at the bar.

Two things seemed to happen at once then - Scott growled Darren's name, and the blond gave a yelp and pulled his hand back as though burned. Without turning to see what had happened, but knowing full well Scott hadn't done a thing to cause it, Heather tore away from the group and didn't stop until she was at the bar, heart still pounding in her chest and nausea thrumming throughout her body.

"Jesus Christ, I need a drink," she grumbled to herself "Or ten."

"I can help you with that," a voice sounded to her side.

Whipping round, she blinked in surprise to see a man standing at her side. It took her a moment to calm herself enough to take him in. He was handsome. It wasn't a word she'd normally use - it seemed antiquated and cliché, belonging to an age of black and white movie stars. Certainly not this place. Here, there were 'hot guys', not 'handsome men'. However, the term fit him. Sure, there was something about him that looked just slightly run down (his hair looked like it saw a brush about as often and she saw a good meal), but that was almost a requirement to even get into this place. His features were aristocratic, and the air of casual grace in which he held himself seemed to come to him with incredible ease. He wore an old worn Led Zeppelin t-shirt, but still looked out of place standing there in front of her. It couldn't have been his age - as he had to have been at least ten years her senior - for the club attracted all ages, but there was just something...different about him.

Maybe it was the look on his face. Usually one of two types approached her here - sleazebags who'd talk more to her cleavage than to her face (the type Darren was desperate for her to appease), or music aficionados who were simply desperate for an easy target to talk with about influences, styles, and how far bands of today were going downhill. None of the latter seemed to grasp the irony of talking about this with a person in a "band of today". The man in front of her seemed to fit into neither of these categories neatly - at least, she hadn't noticed his eyes venture southwards from her face as of yet.

In any other circumstance her response might have been standoffish, or gruff at the very least. However, there was something familiar about him. With a furrowed brow, she regarded the man fully before the lightbulb went off.

"You're that kid's dad, right? What was it - Harry? From the other night?"

At first his eyes widened almost imperceptibly, as if he was surprised at the fact that she'd addressed him. But how could that be, considering _he_ had approached _her_? Whatever caused the odd look that crossed his face, it passed quickly and he returned her smile.

"Godfather," he corrected, his voice quieting a little so she had to strain to hear him over the music.

"Right, my bad, he said that," she remembered, nodding slowly "He, uh, seemed like a good kid."

It was probably painfully obvious that she had no idea what would constitute as a 'good kid', but it was something to fill the silence with. If the man thought the same he didn't show it, instead giving a wide smile "He is. Padfoot."

It was only when he stuck out his hand that she stopped staring in confusion, realising _Padfoot_ was a name, of all things.

"Is that a nickname or did your parents just really hate you?" she asked before she could think better of it, shaking his hand.

Anxiety from her encounter with Darren still thrummed through her, taking the energy she would normally use to filter her words and using it simply to keep her coherent.

He gave a bark of laughter before grinning with a shake of his head "Both, really."

Unable to help it, she returned his smile "Heather."

"What are you drinking?" he asked.

"No, it's okay-"

"I insist," he said warmly, waving over the bartender with the grace and ease that one would summon a waiter at a fancy restaurant with.

Soon she had a triple vodka and coke in her hand, and was doing her very best not to give him a strange look when he paid for it with an entire twenty pound note. Either he was rich, or drunk. Perhaps both. However, the agreement not to give each other strange looks didn't seem to be a mutual one - he had his godson's habit of watching her as if she was about to do something amazing. Heather settled for taking a sip of her drink.

"So, you're a musician?" he asked, tilting his head.

"I try to be. Bass isn't my first choice, but the band needed a bassist when I met them so…"

"What else do you play?" he asked, genuine interest showing on his face.

"Anything I can get my hands on, really," she admitted "Give me a stage and a bucket and I'll give you an opera."

He chuckled at this - either laughter came easily to him or he was just in a particularly merry mood "I'd like to see that."

"Guitar was always my first choice, but nobody can beat Scott when it comes to that," she said "I've always wanted to give singing a go - if Bob Dylan could do it, anybody can - but...Anyway, I do well on bass."

"You do," he agreed, earning a smile from her.

"What about you? Do you play anything?"

"Only the fool," he gave a lopsided smile.

Laughing, she relaxed back against the bar. In truth, she'd come over here to be alone (as alone as she could get in this place), and had been a little annoyed at having her solitude taken from her by a stranger. Now she was grateful. He held none of the awkwardness that people usually did during first conversations, instead talking to her as if he'd known her for years. Heather decided that she rather liked Padfoot - so far, at least. If nothing else he'd proved a great distraction, her heart no longer pounding in her chest and her breathing returning to normal.

"Do you-"

He was about to ask her another question when a hand fell on his shoulder and they both turned to the newcomer in surprise - although Heather didn't miss the way his hand flew to the inside of his jacket in his surprise. It seemed she wasn't the only one on edge that night. But her jumpiness was due to Darren. What was this _Padfoot_ 's excuse? Evidently, however, this newcomer was a friend of his.

"Moony," Padfoot greeted, clapping a hand on his arm as Heather did her best not to stare at the scars on his face "This is-"

"What are you doing?" ' _Moony_ ' asked so lowly that she almost couldn't hear him at all.

"Oh come on," he sighed, rolling his eyes "I'm just-"

"This is _not_ why we're here, Si- _Padfoot_ ," he ground out, not looking at her at all "You cannot just-"

Watching the confrontation, Heather could already feel a small amount of the calm she'd gained begin to seep away as the tension built and she became increasingly uncomfortable.

"I'll just leave you two to it," she cut in, already taking a step backwards "Thanks for the drink."

When the one Padfoot had referred to as Moony finally did look at her, his face surprised her. It held no judgement or annoyance, as she'd expected, just a sad kind of weariness and regret. Taken aback by such a look, she blinked in surprise before remembering herself. With a final nod to Padfoot, and a curious look towards his friend, she made her exit and did her best not to hear the argument between the two that ensued.

* * *

"What were you thinking?" Remus hissed, watching as Heather made her retreat.

Sirius frowned when he noticed that his efforts to lighten her mood seemed to have been wasted, as her shoulders hunched the moment she returned to her _friends_.

"I was _talking_ to her, what about that is so terrible?" Sirius snapped, annoyed at having the conversation cut short "Harry spoke to her last week! She remembered him, you know!"

"Which is precisely why Molly now watches him like a hawk, so he can't follow us here again!" Remus pointed out "Our _orders_ are to-"

"Our orders are ridiculous," Sirius dismissed "When and if the time comes that we need her to come with us - to _trust_ us - surely that will be better achieved if she already knows us? If we're not perfect strangers?"

"Or she'll feel betrayed and feel that you lied to her in not telling her who you really are and start us all off on the wrong foot," Remus reasoned.

"It was one conversation," Sirius scoffed.

"One conversation too many," Remus sighed, although he seemed to relax a little "It's difficult for me too, but we can't just do whatever we like! If the others knew that you'd spoken to her-"

"They won't find out though - will they, Moony?"

Under Sirius' stern glare, Remus deflated a little, shaking his head tiredly and running a hand through his prematurely greying hair "Not from me, no."

At this, Sirius relaxed, allowing some of his own annoyance to falter as he spoke more quietly now "It's for the best. Who will she listen to - who will she _trust_ \- should the time come and we need to get her out of here quickly? The one who actually spoke to her, or the one who acted like she was the plague itself?"

Whether he agreed with this or not, Remus gave no sign of responding, instead turning his gaze back to Heather, now sitting quietly at her booth and resolutely ignoring the blond who chatted away at her. Neither of the men could know that the time when they'd need her to trust them was to come a lot sooner than they had ever anticipated.

* * *

 **A/N: A note on how I'm figuring out what muggle music Sirius might be aware of – seeing as he had a tricked out motorbike, I figure it wouldn't be a great leap to assume he'd at least be aware of some muggle rock music (if only to be rebellious and piss off his family, at the very least). He was imprisoned in 1981, meaning he'd miss out on the 80s part of classic rock (such as Motley Crue and Guns n' Roses, who formed in '81 and '85, respectively) and seeing as his first move when escaping Azkaban probably wasn't to catch up on what muggle music he'd missed, this leaves older bands who would have been around during his Hogwarts years, like Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, AC/DC, Aerosmith etc. etc.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter is the last one that'll have a big focus on the muggle world, after which there'll be a shift to Grimmauld Place with all of the awesome characters that go with it.**

In hindsight, Heather should have known that her day would end in disaster when it began with a phone call from Darren. Rolling out of bed, and taking the covers with her, she hobbled towards the landline in her flat, cursing the caller as she did.

"Hello?"

"Hey, H – you good?"

"…Darren?" she asked slowly, trying to blink the bleariness from her eyes "What's wrong?"

He was the last person she expected to call – especially before sunset. She'd half expected it to be her landlord, bitching about the rent.

"Nothing's wrong," he chuckled "Listen, I just wanted to apologise for last night. I had one too many and was a real arse."

"…I see," she spoke slowly, lowering herself to the ground in a bundle of bedding.

Heather had long since learned that Darren never apologised without a motive, and that guilt was never said motive. The phone line stretched enough for her to sit comfortably, cross-legged with her back against the wall.

"So we're good now?" he asked, voice filled with such hope and innocence that she'd probably believe him if she didn't know him better by now.

"Sure," she sighed "We're good."

"I'm glad, Heather, really," he replied warmly "Listen, I had an idea. A deal that has us both come out as winners."

Suppressing her groan wasn't easy, but she was able to morph it into a yawn. Darren seemed to take this as a sign to continue.

On the surface, the deal that their darling dearest singer went on to propose was decent enough. Then again, Darren was decent enough too – _on the surface_. His biggest problem with her was that he felt she didn't bring in the amount of merch sales that he believed she might, and Heather's biggest problem with him, as far as the band went, was the way he stifled her creative freedom. So Darren proposed this – if she could bring in one hundred pounds worth of sales in the two hours leading up to their set, he'd allow her to add two of her own songs to their set that night. She'd have to sing them herself, considering Darren hadn't bothered to learn them, but that would just make the victory all the sweeter (as long as she had a few shots to bolster her courage beforehand).

It wasn't until Heather had enthusiastically agreed and was halfway through her morning coffee that she realised the flaw in the plan. The club they played at was half-venue, half-nightclub. Upon opening they'd play music from a stereo system until everybody was good and drunk, then a few bands would play their slots later in the night once the crowd was warmed up, and then the night would end by going back to pre-recorded music, by which time people were far too wasted to care about whatever band might be on stage anyway.

There was only one way she'd be able to bring in customers – ones who were blatantly there because of her, at least - before they'd even played their set (because she was certain she'd be able to make a few more album sales if only they'd be able to hear the band's original stuff first), and it was the exact thing that Darren was desperate for her to do – she'd have to use her "feminine wiles", to put it in the most charming way possible. It was an idea that didn't please her, for she didn't want anybody to be able to write off any success they might earn, but she was almost tempted to do it. It was how Darren himself brought in so many customers. He was a shameless flirt, and Heather knew first-hand just how charming he could be once he'd chosen a mark. For him, it was as easy as sending a few smiles, winks, and leading them over to the booth where they'd buy anything just for the excuse of hanging around the booth a little longer.

The problem was, if she did it this night, she'd have to do it every night. She'd be proving the blond right for every time that he'd insisted that if she were to act just a _little_ promiscuous, they'd all benefit. Scott was on her side for now, but if she _did_ manage to bring a hundred dollars "just" by letting a few strangers grope her, she knew that Quinn would join Darren in harassing her to do it again and again. It was a win/win situation for the singer, and he would have known that from the moment he proposed the deal. How else could she get the sales? People didn't exactly go to the club to hear a sales pitch and an endearing story about trying to make dreams of rock-stardom come true.

In truth, Heather had no idea what she was going to do. This was why she found herself leaning against the wall of the club when it opened wearing skin-tight leather pants, a _Motley Crue_ tank-top that showed more of her bra than she was comfortable with, and deep red lipstick in addition to her usual smudge of eyeliner. Even as she'd applied it, it felt wrong.

It wasn't that she had any qualms when it came to making herself look attractive, but the last thing she wanted to be in this band was a piece of meat to be thrown around when convenient and she had a nasty feeling that this was a sure-fire shortcut to becoming just that. As if to prove her point, a couple of men leered at her on their way inside. With a deep sigh she zipped up her leather jacket before digging into the pocket for her pack of cigarettes. When it came back with a small bottle of aspirin (which was filled with anything _but_ aspirin), she took out four and swallowed them dry before returning to her search for her smokes.

Even as she searched, her dilemma spun round and round in her head, eventually growing until she felt like she'd never faced a bigger problem. Did she know she was blowing things out of proportion? Of course. Did that help her to stop? Hell no. It never did. The last thing Heather ever liked to feel was cornered, which was precisely how she felt in that moment. No matter what she did – win or lose – she didn't see how she could come out on top. She didn't even realise how badly she'd begun to shake until she couldn't get her lighter to work.

"Jesus _Christ_ ," she growled through the cigarette between her lips, trying again and again but getting nothing other than sparks for her efforts.

In a fit of annoyance, she flung the lighter down the alley and huffed, tearing the cigarette from her mouth. Leaning her head back against the wall, she did her best to take a deep breath in. It would take the pills twenty minutes to kick in – maybe less, for she'd barely eaten that day. No food in her belly meant she'd get a nice, strong high. Twenty minutes. She just needed to keep it together for the next twenty minutes.

"Having some trouble?"

She must have jumped an entire foot into the air when her newest acquaintance appeared at her side. He had the remarkable ability of looking like he owned whatever patch of land he stood on – an ability which was only a little less impressive because of the squalor of their surroundings – as he leaned sideways against the brick wall, facing her with his head tilted. He looked much the same as he had the other times she'd seen him, in a band t-shirt that looked like it could very well be older than her, black jeans, sturdy boots, and a leather jacket slung over his arm. His skin was a little paler than she'd first realised in the dying daylight, and the circles beneath his eyes a little darker. He was, however, no less handsome – something helped by the amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips and the twinkle in the grey eyes that seemed to see right through her.

"Just a bit," she admitted sheepishly.

He extended a hand and it took her a moment to realise he meant for her to pass him the cigarette. Doing so, she then sighed and closed her eyes, knocking her head a few times against the wall behind her as though it might literally knock some kind of brilliant idea into her. When she opened them again moments later, a lit cigarette was being held out to her. Blinking in surprise – she hadn't even heard the click of a lighter – she gave him a grateful smile and accepted it.

"My knight in…well, a Black Sabbath t-shirt," she did her best to lighten her own mood as he gave no sign of leaving.

He chuckled and shrugged "The shining armour gets a bit cumbersome."

"Of course," she nodded seriously "Must be a real bitch to polish, too."

"Ah, you see that's where _real_ knights have servants for that sort of thing," he waved a hand dismissively.

As he did so, she spotted a series of tattoos inching up his arm. Noticing where her line of sight was drawn to, he quickly tugged his sleeve down and coughed "You seem…vexed."

"That's one word for it," she nodded, taking a long draw of her cigarette "I'm fine – it's my default state of being."

Padfoot didn't look convinced, but didn't push the issue just as she didn't mention his tattoos – although Heather couldn't help but wonder how embarrassing they might be. It was rare to meet somebody with tattoos who had no desire to discuss them. Silence descended on them and she absent-mindedly watched the smoke she'd exhaled curl through the air before turning her head to him again.

"I see you're back again, then. Is your friend alright?"

It seemed to take him a moment to remember his friend's little episode the night before, but when he did he smirked a little "Ah, him. Yes, he was a bit…"

"Vexed?" she couldn't help but tease.

"That's one word for it," he echoed her earlier words, giving her a look "He's fine. Moony's a good friend - really. I wouldn't let first impressions put you off of him."

Heather was almost tempted to ask him if he had any friends with _normal_ names, but didn't. They didn't know each other well enough for her to start being quite so cheeky without worrying that she was being a total asshole.

"I'll take your word for it," she shrugged "But only after hearing such high praise."

In truth, she wasn't even being too sarcastic. In her experience, a truly good friend was a rare thing indeed – hell, she wouldn't even consider any of her bandmates as true friends, with the exception of…Then the idea hit her. Scott. Of course. Without fully realising it, Heather straightened as she bit the inside of her cheek, thinking out the logistics of her plan. Scott would have to agree – everything would hinge on that – and she'd need others, too.

"You're plotting something," Padfoot commented, scrutinising her expression.

Heather blinked in surprise at this – both at being pulled out of her thoughts, and at how seemed capable of reading them.

"That's spooky," she eyed him with equal parts suspicion and confusion "How did you know?"

For his part, Padfoot's face was unreadable, but it had certainly lost a great deal of the cheer it had held when he first approached her that evening. Now his eyes were far away. Giving a sort of forced half-smile and chuckle, he shook his head clear of whatever thoughts were there before he replied.

"I had an old friend who pulled the exact same face whenever he was scheming."

"He must be a fellow genius," she joked, straightening up with her shoulders back as she did her best to quickly finish what was left of her cigarette "Listen – I know it's a weird question, and feel free to say no – honestly, no hard feelings at all, I promise, but…Well, I don't suppose you'd be up for a bit of mischief?"

Whatever she'd said, it seemed to be the right thing, for a spark lit in his eyes and he gave a wide, brilliant grin "What do you have in mind?"

Although she did her best not to show it, Heather was taken aback by his enthusiasm, as well as completely grateful for it. Within ten minutes he'd calmed her down, brightened her mood, and now was willing to help her out of a scrape. Knight in shining armour indeed. Heather couldn't help but make a mental note to figure out what exactly he was up to at some point, along with what motives he might have for being quite so nice. When he bought her that drink the previous night, she was worried that he was interested in her in some way that she didn't have the energy for (regardless of how handsome he was), but he'd made no further advances and simply stuck to being friendly. For now, she settled for being grateful that he'd struck up a conversation the night before.

"All in good time – I have to make some preparations first. I'll find you later, alright?"

With a final wave, Heather flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and bounced indoors. Scott was the only other band member who had already arrived, and she found him perched on the edge of an old beaten sofa with no shortage of questionable stains on it in the back room that served as a "dressing room" for the night's acts. He was tuning his Fender Telecaster with a pick wedged between his lips, barely glancing up when she barrelled into the room.

"What's up?" he asked through the pick.

"Do you still want my Stratocaster?"

Her cherry red Fender Stratocaster had been her baby for years, although it rarely ever saw the outside of her apartment. Immediately she had his attention as his head shot up and the pick fell from his lips.

"…What?" he blinked.

"My Fender Strat. It's yours to buy if you can get me the first hundred pounds within the hour," she said.

"Heather…You love that guitar," he said slowly, as if she'd lost her grasp on the English language.

Hugging her arms to herself, she tried to push down her impatience. He was right, of course, but the longer he resisted, the more time she would have to question and regret her decision. Heather was determined to save that for the end of the night – when at least she'd have her victory as a consolation prize.

"Listen, all I ask for are visitation rights," she tried to joke "…and that hundred quid."

"He won't count any money that's come from you, you know that," Scott sighed, well aware of the deal.

"It won't be coming from me – I just need to get it into the hands of the right people before he gets here. I can bring the guitar with me next time and she'll be all yours," she tried not to wince even as she said it.

Looking between her and his own guitar for a few moments, Scott eventually sighed before hauling himself to his feet.

"Alright. You need to tune this for me, though," he handed her the Telecaster "I'll be back soon, I think there's an ATM round the corner."

"There's a free one just opposite the tube station," she gave him a winning smile as she accepted the guitar.

* * *

Sirius was feeling distinctly self-satisfied that night as he occupied his usual space to the side of the club. Even the humid atmosphere and the way the music rattled his teeth was less bothersome than usual. Even Remus seemed to have lightened up on his disapproval since the previous night – if only because he knew that changing his mind was a doomed cause.

"Did she mention what it was she needed help with?" his old friend asked from his side.

"No – she just said _mischief_."

"Of course she did," Remus gave a wry smile "James would be proud of her, I think. In a way."

Sirius understood his point. Although it seemed whatever she was trying to pursue with this band had not yet come to fruition, she was still pursuing it relentlessly, taking to the stage stubbornly night after night. That's what would have mattered to James. He struggled to imagine his best friend angrily lecturing his children on goals – insisting that his daughter be 'realistic' and get a job in some Ministry office, or scolding Harry for failing to achieve all O's on his O.W.L.s.

"Lily too, probably. You know, in-between aneurisms. She seems to take more after James than she does her mother, though."

"I suppose we'll find out if she's much like Lily if we see her angry."

"Well, if she's anything like her, for our sake I hope that day never comes."

Remus nodded with a chuckle. Their nostalgia was bittersweet, but for over a decade it had been purely bitter (for Sirius, at least), so it was still an improvement. As if sensing their conversation, the topic of it emerged from the crowd, looking rather purposeful and slightly ruffled. Sirius maintained a valiant effort _not_ to notice the black lace peeking from the neckline of her top, his efforts aided by the mental image of James coming back as a ghost for the sole purpose of hexing him. What did not aid his efforts was the brilliant grin she fixed him with when she caught sight of him. When her gaze moved to Remus, she looked a little less sure, but continued towards them regardless.

"Heather! This is Moony – I didn't get a proper chance to introduce you yesterday," Sirius left no room for an awkward silence to sink its claws in.

"It's nice to meet you," Remus said warmly, shaking her hand.

Once the pleasantries were out of the way, Heather dug a hand into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a handful of twenty pound notes.

"Okay, it's going to sound weird – and I'm placing far too much trust in you, considering we've only just met – but I'm going to give you this money, you're going to do me a solid by not stealing it-"

"Do I look that shifty?" Sirius feigned hurt rather well.

"You wouldn't fit in here if you didn't," she snorted with a shrug "All I really need you to do is spend it at the merch table on whatever you can get for that much – a few t-shirts, a few CDs, whatever. Wait until I'm over there, though, and pretend you're a huge fan of my goddess-like abilities on the bass-"

"How do you know I'm not?"

Remus gave him a sharp look at this, but the way Heather spluttered to a stop was worth it.

" _Anyway_ ," she ground out after giving him an unamused look that seemed very well practised "Just make sure they know that you buying stuff is largely down to me, that's important. You'd be helping me win a bet, and I'll owe you a favour."

Turning back to the booth with a shifty air about her that suggested she was making sure none of her bandmates had witnessed this deal taking place, Heather faltered and frowned.

"What kind of fucked up fashion statement is _that_?"

Sirius and Remus followed her gaze, and Sirius felt his heart sink. Standing at the booth and talking rather intently with the blond-haired singer were two Death Eaters, masks and all. Immediately they were both on high alert, for if they were making no effort to disguise themselves, keeping a low profile wouldn't be very high on their list of priorities.

In an instant, they had their wands in hand.

"Heather, you need to get behind us," Sirius said seriously.

Starting at his change of tone, Heather whipped back around with a frown on her face. Then she spotted their wands and the way she paled was clear, even in the dim lighting.

"You…You're one of _them_."

It was said with such betrayal and accusation that he might have winced under different circumstances.

"Yes, we are, and we were sent here to protect you," Remus took over, voice filled with urgency "Those men over there cannot know you're here, do you understand? We need to leave. Now."

* * *

Heather felt like she'd been thoroughly doused in icy water. One moment she'd been revelling in her upcoming victory against Darren, and thrilled at the prospect of her own songs seeing the light of day, and the next she trying to come to terms with the fact that her newest "friend" was, in fact, a wizard. One who had been _sent_ to befriend her. So, not a friend at all, really. As if mocking her, Guns n' Roses _Welcome to the Jungle_ kicked up across the speakers in full force.

Shaking her head, she began to back away, eyes still glued to their wands. Fucking _wands_. Like she'd wandered into a messed up fairy-tale.

" _Heather_ ," Padfoot said, looking like he might reach towards her until she took another step backwards.

Her mind continued to race with all of the small instances of kindness he'd shown her, feeling monumentally stupid for assuming that maybe he was just a very good Samaritan. There was always – _always_ – an ulterior motive. How hadn't she learned that by now?! Any warm buzz that the pills had instilled was long gone now, replaced by pure horror and outrage. The only thing that steeled her against her desire to run was the blatant dread on the faces of the two wizards the moment they noticed the strangely dressed men over by the booth.

"You _must_ let us protect you, do you understand? Once we're safe, we'll explain everything," Moony's eyes kept darting between her and the booth.

"W-Wha…" she took a deep breath, forcing herself to keep it together "What about my friends? They-"

"The sooner you're out of here, the sooner they're safe. Without you here, the Death Eaters have no reason to be here either," it was Padfoot who answered her, reaching forwards again.

This time she reluctantly allowed him to pull her closely to his side, doing her best to ignore the way her heart was hammering against her chest. The – what had they called them? _Death Eaters_? – were between them and the main entrance, but the two wizards seemed unbothered by this, slowly herding her in the direction of a side-door so as not to draw attention. The tension never left them, with Padfoot especially being a far cry from the relaxed, easy-going man she'd been speaking to moments earlier, a determined fire now shining in his eyes – and Heather barely had time to shout a warning before one of the dark figures turned at Darren's gesture, the eyes of the mask seeming to bore into her skull.

The warning was unneeded, for the moment the figure raised his hand to cast some sort of spell, Moony was doing the same, with red and green sparks raining down upon them. This was all it took to plunge the club into chaos. Luckily, chaos seemed to be exactly what they needed. With the bulk of the crowd between them and the Death Eaters, the panicked crowd quickly flooded between them and blocked them from sight, with most people darting towards the most widely known exit, meaning the men would have to fight against the crowd to get towards them. Heather dreaded to think how they might achieve this.

" _Fireworks_?!" she heard one girl shriek "What kind of prick would-"

She didn't hear the rest of the sentence, as another bolt of light streaked past her and ruptured the section of the metal barrier it hit. Padfoot clamped a hand around her upper arm and dragged her with renewed vigour towards the side door, shoving anybody unlucky enough to get in his way aside. All she could do was focus on not stumbling as she allowed herself to be dragged after him, nervously whipping her head around to make sure their pursuers were still out of sight. All she saw each time was Moony, who kept close and seemed to fire back as sparingly as he could. Once they broke away from the crowd, they barrelled through the side-door, and then immediately through another, out into the night.

There was no time to appreciate the sudden excess of air and lack of smothering atmosphere, for Padfoot barked "Hold onto me tightly and do _not_ let go, do you understand?"

Heather had barely nodded before there was the most horrible feeling of pressure that she'd ever experience, like she was being crushed from all angles. Between this, her valiant efforts to force oxygen into her lungs whilst staying upright, and the complete struggle her brain was experiencing to even process all that had taken place in what couldn't have been more than ten minutes, she found herself on the losing end of a battle to stay conscious.

 **A/N: Any reviews would be 100% appreciated :) I'm very excited to start writing the next part, now that I can finally include the Weasleys and more of Harry etc. etc.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in comparison to the gaps between the last chapters. I finally found my copies of the books, and am now up to Order of the Phoenix! Thank you so much to the people who reviewed, it really does brighten my day! This chapter gave me quite a bit of trouble when I was writing and editing. As far as timelines go, in this story there's a little bit more of a gap between Harry arriving at Grimmauld Place and his trial at the MOM - nothing more than a week or two at most, though.**

* * *

Heather's mind fought valiantly against her body for consciousness.

"…Pale as death! Are you certain…thought she was _dead_ when you carried her in here!"

A woman was speaking in a scolding tone, but noise wasn't too unusual in her apartment block.

"…Always rather pale….nearly hit the pavement when…"

A male voice was responding now, a voice which might have been familiar if not for the fact that everything sounded like it was submerged in water, with only brief snippets of clarity. Surely this couldn't be the result of a hangover? Gods above, what _had_ she drank last night? Could she have been spiked? Even has the thought crossed her mind, it didn't quite feel right. Like she was missing a very obvious piece of the puzzle. Inhaling heavily, she willed herself to wake up properly, but the most she could manage was a slight turn of her head.

"It appears she's waking up now," another familiar voice spoke – this one less foggy.

Fingertips brushed the side of her face fleetingly. Heather managed another feeble head turn.

"Well really, it's no wonder the poor girl fainted! Apparating like that with no preparation, no warning – and after-," the woman's voice was back, and louder.

"I was a bit busy trying to keep her from the Death Eaters to give her a beginner's guide on magical means of travel."

It was Padfoot talking. About the men who had tried to attack her. About the club. Before the memories had even quit registered, Heather was half way up, swaying as she blinked her eyes open. She was in a living room – one that looked like something straight from the Victorian era. Her legs were stretched in front of her on an old worn couch. Somebody had removed her boots.

"Hang on. Don't sit up until you're sure you're ready," Moony tried to gently guide her back down, but she waved him off.

"'m fine," she shook her head.

Two strangers, a man and a woman, both redheads, stood in the room – presumably the owners of the voices she hadn't recognised. Both watched her with strange, shocked looks on their faces. Padfoot perched on the back of the couch she had been lying on. Turning away from him, she put her feet on the floor and leaned with her elbows on her knees. Leaning forward, mostly to shield her face from view with her hair, she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"What…Where… _Who_ -," she shook her head and began again "Ugh. Just...tell me what's going on. Somebody. Please."

The matronly woman hurried forward and pressed a mug of piping hot tea into her hands.

"Drink this, dear."

"We should contact Albus," the man she didn't know said grimly.

"Never-mind him, we should wake up Harry," Padfoot argued.

"We should explain to _Heather_ why she just narrowly escaped _murder_ ," she interrupted, any worries of rudeness being swept away by encroaching panic, unaided by how well they all seemed to be taking, well, everything.

Then Padfoot's words registered "Wait – Harry? What does your godson have to do with this?"

The two strangers froze, and then turned their wide gazes to where Padfoot perched behind her.

"How does she know who Harry is, Sirius?" the woman asked sharply.

As if she wasn't already panicked enough, a fresh wave of alarm swept through her and Heather whirled around. Sirius? _Sirius_? It couldn't be. But it was hardly a common name. Could it really be-? In the process of whirling around to get a good look at the man who she very much hoped was not Sirius Black, she sloshed hot tea all over herself before cursing loudly.

"Now you see why I went by Padfoot," Sirius Black said dryly.

With a wave of her wand – because _of course_ the woman was a witch – the tea was back in its mug, and Heather's clothes were dry. Her hands still burned, but her brain was too preoccupied with trying to recall how to breathe.

"She's going to have a heart attack – you two had better explain, seeing as how she clearly knows you," with one last parental glare, the woman pulled the man from the room, leaving her with Moony and Sirius Black.

Until he'd confirmed it right there in front of her, she'd hardly believed it. He looked nothing like the photo that had been plastered all over the country little more than a year ago. Hell, he'd been the name lingering in the minds of anybody who walked home alone at night for a long time. Scott had often insisted on walking her home during that period. No, she decided, it was not surprising that she hadn't recognised him. She had a clear memory of referring to him as " _Charles Manson's less sane brother_ " based on the wanted posters plastered everywhere, and the man who sat watching her carefully now was a far cry from that. Even so, she couldn't help the alarm within her, already building strongly and now threatening to overwhelm her. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath and sat frozen, unable to inch away from the convicted murderer who she was pretty sure she'd half-flirted with on at least one occasion.

"Heather," Moony said gently, sitting beside her "We will explain everything to you, but first you must believe me when I say that Sirius is an innocent man, framed by a traitor who serves…well, a very dark wizard."

Heather didn't know whether she genuinely believed him, or if she just really wanted to. As she slowly managed to regain her breath, Sirius spoke.

"Perhaps I should leave and let you explain," it was said softly and with no judgement, but with something akin to disappointment.

"No," she shook her head.

There were always murmurs of why the news said so little about a man who was apparently so dangerous, but most concluded that it must've meant the details were too gruesome to publicise. But had they not been alone together in that alley just hours earlier? He'd had plenty of chances to harm her if he wished to – even just by being a wizard – so it must have stood that he did _not_ want to.

"You saved my life," she offered as explanation before giving a weak attempt at a smile "You can't mean me that much harm after that, can you?"

They seemed to accept her line of reasoning, and Sirius moved to occupy the couch opposite. Once her hands stopped shaking, Moony tentatively handed her the mug of tea again. She was a quarter of the way through it before he began to talk. His tale was a dark one, but also fantastic, and frightening, and frankly, well, _magical_. He told her of an ongoing war in the wizarding world, of the dark wizard who'd murdered her biological parents (she'd been told of their death before, but the word 'murder' had never been mentioned) and that it was this wizard's followers who they had encountered that night.

"They mean to use you," he said.

"So they didn't want to kill me?" she asked uncertainly.

"Oh, I imagine they would have eventually," Sirius replied grimly.

Remus, as he had introduced himself at the start of the tale, glared at Sirius for his bluntness, but Heather was secretly grateful for it. At least if she knew the worst, her brain couldn't run rampant trying to guess at what it might be.

"But why? What do they want with _me_?"

"This part may come as a shock," Remus hedged.

"Oh, _this_ is the bad part?"

"Not bad; certainly not bad," Sirius shook his head "Heather…Lily and James had another child - a boy. Your brother."

He was looking at her as though waiting for her to get the punchline to a brilliant joke. She had a brother out there somewhere? All of the panic rushing through her mind had descended into static, leaving a sort of numb buzzing in her skull.

"What's his name?" she asked softly.

"Perhaps one of the best known names in our world," Remus remarked "Harry Potter."

Harry. The boy from the other night. It couldn't be mere coincidence, could it? When it became clear that she wasn't going to say anything, Remus inhaled deeply before continuing with his tale, Sirius jumping in every now and then when the story featured him. And so Heather learned of her brother, and of how he became a Wizarding hero at the age of one. By the time they reached the news of his upcoming trial, Sirius took over.

"He came to see you quite against our wishes, but we can hardly blame him for it. He wanted to meet you before we had a chance to terrify you with all of this."

"He's longed for a family for so long – Lily's sister being…how she is," Remus nodded, and a dark look passed over Sirius' face at the mention of these Dursleys.

"And he's here. Now," Heather blinked.

She was well aware of how pale she'd gone - her lips were threatening to go numb from the lack of blood, and her cheeks were ice cold from how the her blood had rushed from them.

"Upstairs, sharing a room with Molly and Arthur's son, Ron."

"How many people are there here?" she asked.

"…Quite a few," Remus winced "We'll do our best to prevent them from bombarding you come morning, as I imagine they'll be eager to meet you, but I really would recommend you at least speak to Harry."

"We could hardly keep him away, should he set his mind on speaking to you," Sirius said, his voice laced with pride.

"Jesus," she sighed finally, sitting back as her mind tried to catch up with all of the information they'd just loaded onto her "All of this has been going on – these…these _wars_ – while the rest of the world just has no clue?"

"Ignorance is bliss," Sirius shrugged.

Heather choked out a humourless laugh. Picking up her jacket from the arm of the sofa, she pulled her cigarettes from the pocket.

"I can, uh, go near the windows, right? Wizards don't have snipers?" she wasn't even sure if she was joking or not.

Sirius' lips twitched into a smirk.

"You won't even be visible with our wards in place," Remus reassured.

Opening one of the windows, she put a cigarette between her lips before she realised she'd left her lighter back in the alley. Sighing, she barely had time to get annoyed before Sirius was pressing something into her hand – her white plastic lighter.

"True to form," she murmured, lighting her cigarette.

He blinked, confused, for a moment before he remembered her earlier 'knight in shining armour' jokes and gave a small smile, only his eyes betraying his surprise at how she joked with him still.

Inhaling deeply, she then leaned out the window as she exhaled and enjoyed the cool night air. She didn't know what shocked her most about the men – that they were wizards, or that they'd been friends with _them_. The truth was, both were easier to ponder than the idea that she had a living, breathing brother just one flight of stairs up. It was a good thing that Scott hadn't been an asshole to him – and thank god she hadn't charged him for that stupid photograph. Part of her was dreading the arrival of morning, though. What did one say when meeting one's long lost brother? 'Hey, what's up? Sorry about your parents, and the whole Voldemort thing, that must suck.'? And what kind of name was _Voldemort_ , anyway?

"And what happens now?" she asked, pushing away thoughts of the meeting to come "To me?"

Sirius bowed his head, and Remus shifted uncomfortably.

"Officially, we're not sure," he sighed "Our orders for now were to just keep an eye on you. Guard you. Certainly not to bring you here. We never _dreamed_ that they might make such a bold attempt so early on."

"Which was foolish," Sirius cut in sternly "After all they've done this year alone alone."

"We'll need to have an official meeting before we can say for certain where we go from here – it's hardly for Sirius and I to decide…As it stands, however, I can't imagine you'll be able to leave."

"For how long?" she blinked.

The look Sirius gave her was sympathetic "Quite some time."

When she continued to stare blankly at them, he continued "One of our members has been keeping an eye on your block of flats – it doesn't appear that they know where you live, yet. Hopefully we can get you there soon so you can collect some of your belongings. It's not much, I know that, but it should help you feel more…comfortable."

"But…my flat…my band," her protests sounded completely lame in the face of 'evil world-dominating wizard', but it didn't stop them from being very real concerns "If I can't leave, I can't make money. If I can't make money, I'll lose my flat and end up on the street once this is over."

The looked on their faces sent ire streaking through her – like had no idea why she was so concerned.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of what these men are capable of," Remus said slowly "They know your face now – they'd be on you at every turn, should you try to return to your normal life."

"But what else can I do? I understand that you're fighting for…fuck, for your _lives_ ," she shook her head, running her free hand through her hair "But if I hide here, I'll be homeless by the time this war is done. I'll have nothing. No life to go back to."

Not that she had much of one as it was, but they didn't need to know that. Where did her bandmates even think she was? Heather wasn't even sure they'd bother finding a new bassist if she was gone long enough. They'd likely just disband if there was nobody to nag them into doing anything else. For the others, it had always been more for kicks rather than a serious venture. Scott had a promising future in MMA, and was moving up in the ranks with every fight. Darren, the asshole, would likely never have to worry about money in his life, and Quinn was talking about doing a degree in engineering. Heather was the only idiot without a back-up plan or safety net, which played rather drastically into her desperation to keep things moving. If she didn't, who would? Nobody. Nobody at all. And that was the situation she was facing now.

Remus, who was equipped to deal with stress-fuelled emotional outbursts from his time teaching at Hogwarts, was the first to respond.

"Of course we wouldn't just cast you out once this is all done," he frowned.

"So what I have to go on is the assurances of strangers that somebody, somewhere down the line, will somehow help me out?" she retorted.

"And the promise that we won't torture you to death, which is more than you'll get if you leave and they find you – which I promise you they would," Sirius said bluntly.

While Remus fixed him with a tired, unamused look, Heather snorted, smoke unfurling from her nostrils before slumping against the window "Sold, to the highest bidder."

Sirius' bluntness didn't bother her. How could it, after everything she'd just heard? In fact, she rather preferred it to any empty placations. However, he seemed to regret his brutal honesty when she grew defeated rather than further agitated. She was facing the window, but watched out of the corner of her eye as he raked a hand through his hair with a sigh before moving to lean against the window frame beside her.

"I should go and check on Tonks," Remus sighed "She said there was no sign of them anywhere near your flat, but I don't like her being there alone after what happened. We'll want to keep a constant watch on the building until we can get you in and out to collect your things."

Heather tensed. They'd been watching her home? Then she had to suppress a laugh at herself – of course they had. Why would she even be surprised?

"You two enjoy yourselves," Sirius said slyly, and if Heather wasn't mistaken, Remus flushed a little.

After he left the room, an odd popping noise sounded in the hallway and then there was silence. If she was less frazzled, she would have been uncomfortable, but after everything that had happened that night, the last thing she had the energy to worry about was the potential of an awkward silence. Heather finished her cigarette, flicked the butt out of the window, and lit another. The empty silence of the street was soothing – a reminder that even though it felt like the world had been plunged into chaos, it wasn't quite the end of the universe. Not if this _Order of the Phoenix_ had anything to say about it, it seemed.

As she continued to smoke, she was keenly aware of Sirius watching her. It was only when she was more relaxed, leaning against the window frame and no longer fighting to hide the tremor in her hands, that he broke the silence that had settled over them.

"You know, I had thought that we were becoming friends," he said simply.

Heather eyed him with surprise for a long moment before she answered "So did I. 'Til I found out you were talking to me because your boss told you to."

He didn't falter under her accusatory tone.

"Actually, I was under orders to _watch_ you. The talking part was quite against orders – so really, the fact that I _did_ talk to you should mean more than if there had been no orders involved at all," he said airily.

So _that_ was why Remus was so annoyed the first night she encountered him. It made sense now. Heather was also beginning to get the distinct impression that this man could likely charm his way out of anything. Despite her weariness, she found herself suppressing an amused smile.

"Or it might just mean that rules don't mean much to you," she replied.

He chuckled in a way that suggested she had _no_ idea. Despite his laughter, he looked sapped of energy – definitely a far sight from the man she'd been talking to in the club (which now felt like a lifetime ago). Perhaps it was simply now that she knew more about him, and therefore viewed him differently, but she didn't think so. There was something in his eyes that seemed to age him, if only in that moment.

"Well, if we are to be friends – and I hope we are – I would hardly see you homeless, would I?"

A jolt of surprise went through her at his earnestness, and she resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. Her earlier words had been more to point out how little reassurance they were giving her, not an attempt to guilt one of them into making it their own personal problem.

"You don't have to worry about-" she began weakly.

"I do," he interrupted seriously "In any case, you'll have no shortage of helping hands, should we win. That's what we do, all of us in our little group – we help each other."

Normally she would have snorted in disbelief and made some sort of quip about life not being a Disney movie. There was no such thing as _true love_ or people being willing to die for their friends, or...or fights against good and evil. Love was a mixture of fondness and familiarity, most friends were only so until it became inconvenient, things were often somewhere on a spectrum of grey rather than pure black and white, and that was just how things were. But the fierceness in his gaze as he held hers told her otherwise, and Heather didn't have the heart, nor the energy, to argue.

"Thank you," she said finally.

Then she tore her eyes away.

* * *

Sirius allowed silence to fall, then, as Heather finished her cigarette. She had taken the revelations surprisingly well, as they'd unloaded them onto her one by one, half-expecting each new piece of information to be the straw that broke the camel's back. But she was hardier than even she seemed to know. Yes, she grew paler and paler as they explained everything to her, something he hadn't thought possible, and _yes_ , of course she was scared – _everyone_ was scared – but there was no witless terror, no incoherent screaming, and no tears (thank Merlin).

If anything, she seemed curiously determined to hide her worry. Her free hand was clenched tightly at her side, knuckles white as she tried to disguise any hint of shaking, and whenever it looked like her face may drop the impassive mask she'd schooled it into, she would lean far out of the window under the pretence of blowing away the smoke. It looked like this generation of Potters was doomed to be far braver than they should ever have to be.

He was torn from his thoughts when the sound of the front door's numerous locks clicking carried through the house. It was far too soon for Remus to be back – unless something had happened. Not wanting to alarm her, he gestured for Heather to stay where she was and didn't draw his wand until he was in the hallway. While there was any number of Order members who could be at the other side of the door, it was better to be safe than sorry. Only when the door swung open to reveal Albus Dumbledore, did he relax. Until, of course, he caught sight of who was standing behind him.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm sorry for ending on a cliffhanger! It was just the natural place to end the chapter. In the next chapter Heather talks to Dumbledore, we find out who he brought with him, and she becomes better acquainted with her brother and Grimmauld Place's other residents. I'm trying to tread a bit of a fine line as far as Heather being anxious goes, where it's definitely a factor in how she acts and feels, but it's not completely debilitating - she can still fight it and do things despite it, it's just difficult for her.**

 **I'm also going to try out something I did with my stories in other fandoms - anybody who leaves a review will get a "preview" of the next chapter, in the form of a paragraph or two from it, seeing as I've already written quite a large chunk of it. It's just a way for me to say thank you and gives me something worthwhile to respond with :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for disappearing for a while! Life happened, as it tends to do. Also had a bit of trouble with this chapter, but I hope you guys like it!**

It would be a lie for Heather to pretend that she didn't consider climbing out of the window when Sirius stepped from the room. The calm emptiness of the street outside was alluring in comparison to the thoughts warring in her head, and the strangeness that the path she was on held. It would be easy - all she'd have to do was pull herself up and out, and she'd be down the street and out of sight before anybody even knew she was gone. No wizards, no magic, no...no _war_. Then, the reasons _not_ to do so kicked in.

Where could she go? These people supposedly knew where she lived, or would soon, and Debbie certainly wouldn't thank her for turning up on her doorstep - even if she wasn't bringing trouble with her. Biting her lip hard enough to hurt, she scanned the street again. Remus' words hadn't failed to impact her - these men were dangerous. If she couldn't have guessed that from what they'd done at the club, she certainly knew it now. What if they found her before she found somewhere else to hole up? Hell, what if they found her _after_? Sure, the people she was with now were near-strangers, and odd ones at that, but they hadn't tried to attack her - _and_ they were loyal to Lily and James. Somehow this made them at least somewhat loyal to her, too. That made them her best bet for now.

She also couldn't pretend her motivations were purely selfish, or fear-based, as much as she would have liked to. Every time she came close to saying 'fuck it' and pulling herself up and out of the window, the boy's face flashed through her mind. Her brother's face. Looking at her like she was made out of solid god-damned gold from across the merch table. Just because life had dealt him a shitty hand didn't mean she needed to help it along by dealing him another. Sure, she wasn't quite ready to go and wage war in his name, but if staying around this, rather strange, house for a while would help him, didn't she owe him that? The selfish, petulant part of her mind demanded to know why she owed him a thing, but she waved it off. His parents' choices weren't his fault, and she wasn't about to take out any anger or bitterness on a teenager.

The cool breeze continued to flow in through the window, as though trying to entice her. Seeking to rid herself of the temptation entirely, she flicked her cigarette butt out the window and then closed it, ignoring the way the aged wood protested. With any sound from outside gone, the voices in the hallway came louder. She could make out Sirius' voice, words muffled but tone agitated, and another, deeper one which seemed much calmer. Just as she began to consider crossing the room too press an ear to the door, the creaking of floorboards signified their return.

When Sirius re-entered the room, his lips were pressed into a thin line, grey eyes tired. The look he gave her was no more promising - sympathy and worry bundled into one. Her eyes widened when she saw the man behind him.

"You," she breathed.

"We meet again, Miss Barrett," the old man gave her a pleasant smile.

She remembered him - how could she not, given how he dressed? Plus it wasn't like visits from the headmaster of a magic school were exactly the norm in her childhood. How many years had it been? Ten? She was distracted from her surprise, however, when one last person entered.

At first, when Scott ducked into the room, she blinked and stared, unable to believe her eyes. He stood a step behind the old man, his clothes in comical contrast to the grand robes the latter wore. It was almost funny, to see a man of his size standing there so sheepish, unable to meet her gaze, but the penny didn't quite drop. Not yet. When she was certain that he was actually there, and the events of the night hadn't sent her completely round the bend, she was on him in a flash and pulling him into a tight hug.

"Thank god you're okay!" She ended the hug to hold him at arm's length, scanning him for any visible signs of injury "I was so worried that they - I mean...How did they find you? Did they explain everything?"

She turned to look between Sirius and the elderly man for an answer, but at her question Sirius grimaced and looked to the man.

"Mr Diggins is the one who found me, my dear," the headmaster replied "I instructed him to do so, should anything happen."

Heather's hands dropped from Scott's arms as if burned.

"You…" she said slowly, as if she didn't quite want to get the words out "You _know_ each other?"

And back her brain went into overdrive. How long had she known Scott? She remembered where they met - the bar down the road from her flat - but when? It couldn't have been more than two years. He'd been friendly and incredibly kind from the outset, which was exactly why she hadn't trusted him at first. Then she discovered his talent for guitar and he was probably one of the most important members of the band within a month. Yes, she remembered now, it was two years ago - he had insisted on walking her home after every practise, enduring both the tube and the bus ride with her, when the stuff about Sirius the "mass murderer" hit the news- Oh. Now it made sense.

"You're one of them."

"One of us," he corrected weakly "You're a witch too, H, like it or not."

"You work for _him_ ," she jabbed a finger in the headmaster's direction - what was his name, Dumblefor? Drumbledoor?

"You've met before, Dumbledore?" Sirius cut in.

Dumbledore. That was it.

"It's not often Hogwarts receives a refusal - and even rarer when said refusal isn't in favour of another school of magic. I visited Heather to make sure she understood the decision she was making," he sat down on one of the couches and made a sweeping gesture for them to do the same "The Ministry would have likely demanded her memory of our world was wiped clean, but given the circumstances, and who her brother is...I thought it best to leave the knowledge with her."

He fixed her with a vaguely familiar piercing gaze now "You seemed a sensible enough girl, not likely to run around sharing the information. I can't say I'm not pleased I did so now."

What was initially despair and confusion was quickly turning to anger, the new revelation being the straw that broke the camel's back. Hot, angry tears were fast building in her eyes.

"It seemed pertinent to have somebody nearby who would be able to protect you, in the time before we knew the truth about Sirius," he gestured to Scott "Your friend here is a muggleborn - a wizard born to a muggle family. He volunteered to watch over you."

"And then you manufactured a meeting," her eyes fell to the table "And prayed I'd be stupid enough to fall for all of it."

Which she was.

"If it's any consolation, Miss Barrett, it's not so much that you're unintelligent, and more so that we are very clever," Dumbledore said in a tone she was sure he intended to be kind.

It was easy to see how he was a teacher. He reminded her very much of all of the ones in her old school with sympathetic faces and promises that she could 'always talk to them' if needs be. Of course, she hadn't. She wasn't about to change her habits now.

Given the situation, she settled for giving an unamused huff "Well, congratulations. You got me. You can all be very proud of yourselves."

Dumbledore didn't justify her anger with a response, while Scott shifted uncomfortably and Sirius observed the entire scene with a furrowed brow. A suffocating sort of silence began to fill the room. She knew they were waiting for her to blow up - to give them the reaction they'd been expecting from the beginning. For her to start screaming and throwing things and crying while she cursed their names to the high heavens. And god, did she want to. She wanted to justify the look of dread on Scott's face - she wanted to do anything that would distract her from the sick, heavy feeling that had staked out its territory in the pit of her stomach the moment she'd seen that _wand_ in Sirius' hand.

But she couldn't. It was as though lead had filled her limbs, and she was stuck, frozen where she sat on the sofa, unable to even move her lips from the harsh line they'd set into. So she sat silently, staring at ancient coffee table in front of her. What was there to say? She'd rail and shout about lies and betrayal, and in return the old man at the other side of the table would babble something about the greater good, and any attempt she might make to stress just how wrong his - no, _their_ \- bullshit was would immediately be not only null and void, but completely selfish too. Hurt feelings didn't exactly match up with 'battling an evil wizard bent on world domination'. She was collateral damage, plain and simple.

"I must ask," Dumbledore was the first to break the silence, speaking softly "With you being here for the foreseeable future, is there anybody who would notice your absence? Scott can handle your bandmates and make excuses there, but we have to know if there's someone else. Anybody who might go to the muggle authorities?"

The question made sense, but it just felt like salt in the wound. Before she'd learned the truth, her only answer would have been 'Scott' - he probably knew that, too.

"Nobody," she said blankly, slowly slumping back into the couch.

"Nobody?" Sirius echoed doubtfully.

"I am aware of the unfortunate loss of your father, Mr Barrett," Dumbledore seemed to share these doubts "But to my knowledge, your adoptive mother still lives. Surely she would notice."

They were determined to pick at every wound she had, or so it felt in that moment.

"I couldn't tell you the last time I spoke to Debbie, nevermind saw her," she snorted bitterly "The only reason she'd want to know if this _Voldemort_ got his hands on me would be so she could send him a bottle of champagne and a nice little 'thank you' card."

Scott flinched when she said the name, and the petty side of her felt wave of smugness wash over her for just a moment. It was no match, however, for the hot shame and embarrassment of having to admit such a thing in a room full of almost-strangers. Even Scott was in that category, for how much of their friendship had been real? Admiring a character in a movie was different from liking the actor who played them, and that's how she viewed him now. A very skilled actor who played out his assigned role perfectly.

How many times had he sighed before hanging out with her, insisting to himself that he wasn't being paid nearly enough to put up with her? She found she didn't want to know. But still, she could not look at him.

"Why put Remus and I on guard duty if she was already being watched?" Sirius changed the topic, for which she was grateful.

"If I recall correctly, I assigned Remus and Nymphadora the role - _you_ joined them of your own volition," Dumbledore's tone was fraught with disapproval - the kind she'd expected to receive for her own sniping.

Sirius didn't look chastised in the slightest, one dark eyebrow twitching slightly as though resisting the urge to argue or snap back at him. Heather, however, was more preoccupied with his question. He raised a good point - if Dumbledore trusted Scott to protect her back when he thought Sirius was a threat, why didn't he continue to simply rely on that protection?

"Why, though?" she echoed almost grudgingly, tilting her head.

"Forgive me, Sirius, but when you first broke out of Azkaban, while we knew you were capable of being dangerous indeed, you still posed less of a threat than Voldemort and his followers do now, now that we know he's risen once more. While Heather's safety was a concern, I believed your first and foremost priority would be finding Harry - which it was, albeit not for the reason everybody believed," Dumbledore explained "Mr Diggins is a skilled wizard, and I trusted he would be enough of a precaution in those circumstances, but this is not the case now. He might have been a match for the starved, crazed madman we believed you to be-."

Sirius gave a hollow, mirthless bark of a laugh at this, bowing his head as though he'd received a compliment.

"- but I would not like even my own chances against multiple Death Eaters, now that we know their efforts are focusing in on Miss Barrett."

"I saw him during the fight," Sirius nodded in the direction of Scott, sounding borderline suspicious "He didn't fire a single spell to help."

"I could hardly do that if I'm to remain with the muggles and cover for Heather's absence, could I?" Scott sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, apparently offended at Sirius' insinuation "My role became more...covert when the Order got involved. I was told to watch, and to trust that others would step in to protect if it came to that."

"Well you're lucky we did - the entire club was between the two of you when they attacked, you wouldn't have been able to _see_ her, nevermind help," Sirius pointed out.

"I saw you two pulling her to safety. I'm more than capable of doing my job, Mr Black," Scott ground out.

And there it was. 'Job'. Solid proof that their friendship had been a chore. Heather swallowed the lump building in her throat and mentally searched for anything that might stoke the anger in her again, to replace the sting of the betrayal. It came to her fairly quickly.

"You knew," she said.

Reluctantly, he met her gaze, but looked lost as to what she meant.

"Harry - he's like, a celebrity in your world, right? You knew who he was that night. You _knew_ I was talking to my goddamn brother with no bloody clue and you- you- you sat back and made jokes!"

"What jokes?" Sirius frowned.

Scott, however, ignored him, hanging his head "Heather, you have to understand. If I could have told you, I would. But I couldn't. And the way he was staring at you - I had to come up with _something_."

She wanted to insult him then. To shout at him that he was an asshole, and that she never wanted to see his face or hear his voice again. But she didn't. She'd been made to look fool enough, and instead settled for shaking her head, her lips set in a thin line.

"I'm afraid I didn't only come here to make introductions," Dumbledore spoke up again, pinning her down with his gaze "I had to tell you, Heather, that The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at 12 Grimmauld Place."

He said the words with such gravity that she felt like her responding blink didn't quite cut it in return, but what else could she say? "Cool name, dude, you should form a band"? But Dumbledore didn't seem surprised, nor let down, by her non-reaction, continuing.

"Now that I've told you this, you'll be able to collect your belongings from your flat in the morning and return without issue. It was a stroke of luck that you fainted upon arrival, really. You wouldn't have been able to enter otherwise," he paused for a moment before growing serious "Heather, I must stress to you the importance of you staying here afterwards, however."

Her blood ran a few degrees colder as she swore she saw his eyes flicker towards the open window she almost climbed out of just a few minutes earlier.

"Which leads me to my final point," he seemed eager to reach the end of their 'discussion' "Sirius."

Both Sirius and Heather blinked in unison.

"Er, yes?"

"Heather will be under your protection until…" for a moment the man's eyes matched his age, the wrinkles around them suddenly seeming more pronounced as he gave a heavy sigh "Well, until the threat we face is eradicated, or until her time here is over. Whichever comes first."

It would be difficult to say who was the most astonished by this revelation. Heather gaped, any dormant anger she felt bursting through her calm facade. Not only was she being kept here like some kind of messed up pet, but she was being assigned a babysitter at best, and a jailer at worst.

"What, are you going to have him check on me every fifteen minutes to make sure I stay here, go to bed on time, and eat my meals like a good little girl? Maybe pat me down every so often to make sure I haven't got any contraband on me?"

Dumbledore returned none of her anger, keeping his calm gaze fixed steadily on her.

"Would that be necessary?" he asked, a vague sort of amusement shining in his eyes.

Leaping to her feet, she would have kicked her seat over behind her if it hadn't been, well, a sofa.

"Do _not_ mock me," her voice shook as it rose, her hands clenching into fists to disguise how they trembled too "You have no right - _no right_ \- to turn my entire life upside-down over the course of one night - well, the parts that you didn't manufacture yourself - and then make fun of me when I don't fall to my knees and thank you for doing it!"

The pitch of her voice rose progressively over the course of her tirade, until she was sure only dogs would be able to hear her, and by the end the only thing that stopped her from continuing was the fact that she was sure if she did, it would crack completely and the lump in her throat would transform into full-blown hysterical tears. The fact that she was an angry crier had never felt so utterly infuriating; she already knew she was the weakest person in the room - that any one of these men could kill her with a single gesture - and the last thing she needed was to feel even goddamn weaker.

With a huff she strode back towards the window, leaning against the frame. She would have preferred to leave the room entirely, but where could she have gone? The house was foreign to her, and the last thing she wanted was to waltz into a room full of even more wizards. Better the devil she knew.

"Heather…" Scott began reluctantly.

"No," she jabbed a finger in his direction "Don't _you_ fucking dare. You don't get to talk to me anymore."

Rather than protesting or arguing, he fell silent. For that, she was grateful.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Dumbledore," Sirius spoke up after a few moments of awkward silence.

"I'm surprised at you, Sirius," said the old man "Are you not always expressing your desire for a greater role within the Order? Has your mind changed?"

"Of course not," Sirius bristled.

"Well then, I can think of no better person to trust with the wellbeing of James Potter's daughter."

The embers of her temper sparked at that, but she found herself without the will to ignite it fully - not only because Dumbledore's words were heavily weighted, and a glance at Sirius told her that they'd had the desired effect. His brows were no longer drawn together, and instead his face was blank, something unplaceable shining in his eyes. After a moment, he seemed to recover, but his following frown was half-hearted at best, seeming more of a mask than anything else.

"Now gentlemen, I would have a word with Heather in private before I take my leave," Dumbledore said.

Both men nodded, albeit Scott more reluctantly than Sirius, before leaving the room. The closing of the door behind them was almost deafening.

"I owe you an apology, Miss Barrett," he said, sincerely and without preamble "I realise this must be a very real shock to you. In times of great peril it's all too easy to become desensitised to the hurt and tragedy of others, but it's also precisely the time in which we should be most caring. I am well aware of how difficult a situation this must be for you, and I _am_ sorry - both for the fact that you are in it, and the hand I have had in it."

The formality of the apology, along with the sincerity with which it was spoken, caught her entirely off guard. After a beat of silence her shoulders slumped, unaware she'd even been tensed up in the first place. It was only after she returned to the sofa that she replied.

"...Thank you," she said, mostly for lack of anything else to say.

'I forgive you' felt too formal - too imperious - but 'that's okay' would be a lie. Could she forgive his light-heartedness? Of course. Could she forgive the fact that her supposed best friend had been a bodyguard-slash-spy in his employ? Not likely. But she did appreciate the apology, and had certainly not expected one.

"Our world will be an adjustment, but from what I know of you, you possess a rather particular resilience. You may even come to cherish the friendships form here," he continued "...Should you be willing to forge them. In assigning your care to Sirius, I mean to appoint you a mentor to help you adjust to our world. After all, you will be here for some time, and I did mean what I told him."

With that, he left, giving her one last look when he was in the doorway, which held meanings she didn't entirely understand, but would later assume was supposed to convey "hang in there" or a more eloquent version of it.

Sirius returned a moment later, after she heard the front door close with a quiet 'thunk'. For a moment an awkward silence threatened to settle, starting her into action.

"Ah. My jailer," she attempted to joke, if only to downplay her own distress.

Then, of course, she remembered his past and cringed.

"Sorry," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose "I didn't-"

To her surprise, he snorted quietly before taking a seat beside her and rubbing a hand over his face.

"Just for that it's the shackles, inmate," he joked dryly.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," she replied before really thinking.

He gave a full-blown, signature bark like laugh at that, and Heather found herself glad at her lack of thought. Her spirits barely lifted, but for now joking around with a man she previously thought was a serial killer was a far cry better than merely sitting opposite from Scott.

"For the love of Merlin, don't let Molly hear you joke like that," he shook his head, smirking "Or if you do, make sure I'm there to witness it."

She gave a half-smile that already felt uncomfortable, and too much like a lie, on her lips as her mind began to whirr ahead to the hours to come. Silence returned, and Sirius seemed content to let it stretch on, leaning back and fixing her with an unabashed look of curiosity. Just as she was about to snap and ask him what exactly he was staring at, he spoke.

"I'll find you something to change into for now," he sighed, looking away "As far as I gather, there's no plans for you to collect your things until daybreak."

If these Death Eaters were willing to come after her in a packed club, she doubted daylight would bother them much. Unless it turned out they were all vampires - which, at this rate, wouldn't even surprise her. By the look on Sirius' face, he was thinking something similar, so she said nothing and instead allowed him to lead her around the house like a lost puppy, in search of pyjamas. In truth, she was grateful - she didn't want to meet a bunch of strangers in what were more or less stage clothes.

* * *

By the time morning rolled round, Heather had scrubbed her face free of make-up, wrestled her hair into a high ponytail and changed into a t-shirt (courtesy of Sirius) and a pair of pyjama bottoms belonging to one of Mrs Weasley's sons, covered in what looked like small, golden-winged golf balls. The t-shirt was on the large side, and the trousers threatened to be too tight, but after the confining leather trousers she'd worn all night, they felt heavenly. After removing her contacts and replacing them with her rather scratched glasses, retrieved from her jacket pocket, she supposed she could see the likeness between her and Harry – from what she could remember of him.

It was early, only around 6am, when it was decided that Harry should be woken. Only Sirius and Mrs Weasley were already awake, and the former (having not slept at all) took the job of waking the boy while the motherly woman bustled around the stove preparing breakfast. She'd ignored Heather's gentle protests that she rarely ate in the mornings (rarely being conscious in the morning, really), happily piling a full English breakfast onto a plate in front of her. She did the same to another plate and placed it opposite her on the table. By the time they heard footsteps descending the stairs, the redhead was quickly excusing herself, only pausing to give Heather a watery smile on her way out, which she did her best to return, if a little awkwardly. Outside in the hallway, Heather heard her warmly greet somebody, and then the door was opening again.

Sirius hadn't followed Harry into the kitchen, instead deciding to give them some privacy. Heather was grateful for that – she wasn't sure she could stand an audience for this. Her stomach already felt like it was doing somersaults. The teenage boy lingered for a moment in the doorway, regarding her silently.

"Hi," she said softly, glad that the mug of coffee was in her hand, or else she'd have given an equally awkward wave.

He gave a small laugh, shifting where he stood "Hello."

Only once it seemed he was sure that she wouldn't vanish before his eyes, Harry took the place opposite her, skirting the table as though she were some sort of strange exotic animal, and they each went on to do an admirable job of pretending not to study the other intently. He looked younger than she remembered, lanky and verging on too thin for his age. A small thread of worry wound its way through her when she noticed this - something she wanted to laugh at herself for. She'd known him for all of five minutes, and now she was worrying about him? In truth, if anything she admired him. The story she'd heard from Remus and Sirius...she'd be hard-pressed to find somebody her own age to get through it all, nevermind a teenager.

"I remember you," she said eventually, spooning sugar into her coffee "From that night, at the club – how did you even get in there at your age?"

"Er," he shifted a little "Well, magic."

Heather paused. Ah. Of course. Slowly, she nodded.

"Well, an invisibility cloak, really," he confided, seeming to find his voice "It belonged to my – well… _our_ father."

Her grip tightened on her mug. He was watching her keenly for a reaction to that particular piece of information. His intent was obvious, of course. This was his way of initiating some sort of conversation about their- _his_ parents. Breathing in deeply, she tried to think of a way to respond that wouldn't end in the conversation he clearly wanted to have - and, admittedly, feeling a little guilty for doing so.

"Dumbledore explained everything to me – along with Remus and Pad-, er, Sirius."

Her brain was still trying to come to terms with casually referring to a conversation she'd had with Sirius bloody Black – never-mind the fact that he was handsome and actually rather funny, rather than the maniacal murderous madman that had been portrayed on the news. What was next, brunch with Ed Gein? She didn't even want to consider how many events that had been portrayed as natural disasters or tragic accidents to them had actually been down to conflict or mishaps in the Wizarding world.

At her words, Harry frowned. Part of her wanted to be irked with him for purposely meeting her for the first time when she'd have no idea who he was. Lies made her blood boil, as Scott had discovered hours earlier,, and she despised feeling like she was purposely being kept on the back foot. However, looking now at the teenage boy sitting across from her, who already looked so tired and world-weary, she couldn't find it in her to be annoyed. Not least because she couldn't say she wouldn't have done the same.

"I just…I wanted to say I'm sorry," she sighed, not quite meeting his eyes "About your parents, everything that's happened…I can't imagine. I'm not sure I want to."

How would she feel if she had been through all of that, before finally finding out she had a living family member, only for it to be…well, her. How many nights had she spent boozing and pilling it up while this kid fought for his life, or slept in a _cupboard_? The idea made her cringe with shame.

"I can't imagine I was quite what you were expecting," she gave a self-deprecating smile, taking a gulp from her mug.

"No," he agreed, giving a small smile "You're much cooler."

Heather resisted the strong urge to snort into her coffee. She supposed she saw how it could look that way – especially to a teenager. The concerned looks, verging on disapproval, that she had garnered from not only Remus but also Mrs Weasley when they thought she wasn't looking told her that she was hardly fooling everybody, though.

"Well," she replied "I'd offer you my autograph, but you already have it."

He laughed at this, and they shared a look. It was a tentative look on both ends, but filled with a sort of shared understanding - like two old friends, reconnecting for the first time in years. The awkwardness was there, of course. It wasn't something that would go away with one conversation, and this was entirely new territory for the both of them. Sure, siblings were often close, but that came easily when you spent your entire life with a person (or _not_ so easily, where Debbie was concerned). They'd spent all of ten minutes together, during five of which she'd had no idea who he was.

But still, here they were, having their first proper conversation, and nothing had burst into flames, nor had anybody begun crying or shouting. After the night she'd had, this was a marked success.

"Can I ask-"

Then, before he could finish his question, two red headed teenagers appeared on the dining table with a distinct ' _crack_ '.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Quite a long one, which hopefully makes up for the slow updates!**

The two lanky, red-headed teenagers appeared as if out of nowhere - literally. One moment they weren't there, and the next they were, perched on the old worn table (having luckily avoided their plates), wearing matching grins on identical faces. Having learned her lesson with the tea earlier, Heather dropped her coffee mug to the table but couldn't scramble back too much because of the table.

"What's mum pulling you out of bed to whisper about at this hour, then?" the one on the left faced Harry, and spoke in conspiratorial tones.

The one on the right, however, faced her. He blinked in surprise at her, and she stared owlishly back at him. So magic allowed them to just appear like that? From thin air? Her mind immediately began to race at the possibilities. Were there rules to it, or could they go to Australia and back in an instant if they so wished? Then, a less fanciful idea hit her. The Death Eaters had to be capable of doing the same. But nobody seemed panicked at the possibility - and she highly doubted Molly would be pottering about the kitchen making a nice family breakfast for herself and her newfound brother if impending doom was imminent. So...there must be limitations. Perhaps safeguards against it? There had to be. Otherwise nobody would be safe anytime somebody less than savoury got their hands on a wand. Even so, a sinking feeling made itself at home in the pit of her stomach, and she realised just what she was contending with, being on the shit-list of this Lord Voldemort and his gang of thugs. If this was the sort spell that _teenagers_ messed around with at home, what sort of ungodly things would be in store for her should they find her?

The twin who faced her reached an arm across the table to smack his brother lightly on the arm. He jumped a little before turning, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline when he noticed her sitting there.

"Blimey," he commented lightly "This is her, then?"

"'Course it is," the one facing her nodded "Look at her. Has to be."

"Maybe if you ask her, she'll tell you," she said, any shyness overshadowed by shock and irritation.

They both grinned at that, and for once she had a feeling like she'd said the exact right thing.

"I'm Fred," the one on the left introduced himself, clambering from the table.

"And I'm George," said the other, moving to sit beside her as Fred took the seat next to Harry "And _you_ are Heather Potter."

"Barrett," she corrected "Heather Barrett."

"Well, Barrett Heather Barrett," said Fred, leaning forward "We're curious about that, actually. Did yo-."

" _Guys_ ," Harry finally voiced his annoyance "Not to be rude or anything but can you just give us-."

But he didn't get a chance to finish his question either, for yet another redhead came bursting into the kitchen, half-awake and clad in only his boxers.

"Has anybody seen my pyjama…" he trailed off, any trace of sleep leaving his face when he spotted her.

Silence fell over them.

"I, uh, think I'm wearing them," Heather supplied when nobody else spoke.

"Morning, Ron," Fred looked all too pleased at the turn of events.

Another beat of silence followed her words, during which time the boy's face turned a rather alarming shade of crimson. Then, two things happened at once. Ron made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a groan before fleeing, and the twins burst into laughter. Even Harry, who'd made no attempt to hide his irritation at the twins' intrusion, had a hard time hiding his laughter. They shared a look over the table, silently resolving to continue their conversation later, before Heather joined in with the laughter.

* * *

While her studio apartment was just the right size for herself, two felt like a bit of a crowd. Three was awkward, and with the four of them? It was a trial not to constantly get in the way of each other. Remus had returned to Grimmauld Place in the morning, having decided it would be safe to bring her to fetch her things (provided she did so as quickly as possible), and Sirius refused to be left behind, stubbornly insisting that he could hardly watch over her if he didn't go with them.

In truth, her apartment was one of the easiest things to leave behind. Sure, she'd lived there a while, but it was never a home. She'd decided long ago that home was wherever she was, and she wasn't about to make this whole ordeal even harder on herself by developing some sort of misplaced attachment to the box of an apartment. At least she'd no longer have to endure any midnight walks home through the area, clutching a knife up her sleeve and hoping for the best. Not to mention she no longer had to worry about where this month's rent would come from.

There was something strangely familiar about the woman who she was introduced to upon appearing in her flat. She was grateful she didn't pass out upon _apparating_ for the second time - although she was strongly resisting the urge to vomit all over Remus' shoes - seeing as she doubted it would make a good first impression. Tonks, as she was introduced to her, had bright pink hair and an even brighter smile, which didn't falter as she almost stumbled over the amplifier sitting in the corner.

"I, uh, don't have any luggage," she scratched the back of her neck, looking around the room.

"Oh, I brought this for you to use," Remus produced a rather small looking suitcase.

Heather stared at it, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. It could probably fit a t-shirt or two, and a book if she was lucky. Something in her expression must have given her thoughts away, for he smiled a little before setting the case down on her bed and opened it. Inside was enough room for all of her things twice over. Blinking in surprise, she forced back a quiet curse (something she'd have to work on - she doubted Molly would appreciate it if she wandered around Grimmauld Place, swearing like a sailor in front of her children), and not-so-subtly lifted the edge of the case a little, just to make sure it wasn't some kind of optical illusion. Luckily, none of them were unkind enough to laugh at her for it.

After realising that the task of packing her things was hardly a four person job, Remus and Tonks excused themselves to the hallway to act as lookouts. The amused look Sirius sent in their direction confirmed her budding suspicion of there being something between the pair, but she gave no indication that she'd noticed anything. It was hardly her business.

"So," Sirius clapped his hands together "How can I help?"

Even if he hadn't made it clear how he loathed to be stuck in Grimmauld Place, his behaviour made it obvious. Nobody else would take such joy in something like packing up an apartment. With a wave of his wand, the contents of her bookshelf were flying towards the case, which didn't really leave a whole lot else after she'd flung her clothes into a large black rubbish bag and stuffed it into the case, too.

"Make sure you don't leave anything that might give them any sort of information," Sirius advised.

"The landlord will just sell anything I leave behind, anyway," she replied.

"I don't imagine the Death Eaters will leave much in a good enough condition for that," he said "They don't take losing very well. They'll probably destroy the place when they find it abandoned."

Heather made a face at that.

"What about the neighbours? Will they...Will they be safe?" She asked with a frown.

Sure, they often woke her up at all hours shouting or blaring music, but she hardly wanted them dead for it. Their music taste wasn't _that_ bad. A worrying silence followed her question.

"It won't be your fault if they're not," he said slowly "But I don't think they'd take such a big risk."

"They attacked us in front of an entire club full of people."

"Because they thought it would get them _you_ ," he countered "He could use you either as a bargaining chip against Harry, or to force him into doing something rash."

"I'm not worth losing a war for," she snorted.

Sure, she might not thank them for leaving her behind if she was mid-torture, but with a clear mind? How could she ever think her life would be worth that of thousands of innocent witches and wizards? At her words, a silence fell over them. She couldn't quite bring herself to turn and look at Sirius, however, worried she might see sympathy - or worse, pity - written on his features. Instead, she continued to pack up her instruments.

The moment Sirius turned his attention to the cramped kitchenette in the entrance of the apartment, she opened the well-disguised panel in the interior of her guitar case, where she kept her back-up stash for tough times. Relief swept through her when she found it safely where she'd left it, and she was closing it back up before Sirius even had a chance to make a sound of disbelief upon realising the kitchen was completely empty, save for a coffee mug and a couple of empty take-out cartons. When added to the stash she had among her toiletries, and the ones in her aspirin bottle back at the house, she had enough to get her through the next few months. She'd worry about what came after, well, after.

"Can I ask you something?"

She almost jumped when he snapped her from her thoughts, half-expecting to finish up packing in a somewhat awkward silence.

"Go ahead," she shrugged.

"What did they tell you about James and Lily? The muggles?"

"Dad never said anything about them," she replied honestly, resisting the urge to bristle a little "Always brushed off my questions. It was only after he passed away that Debbie would...make comments."

"Comments?"

Well, it had really started after her letter from Hogwarts appeared. Her parents were stunned into silence by it, but the silence soon turned into arguments when they thought she was fast asleep. Debbie, probably thrilled at finally having a solid reason for never having bonded with her, shrieking about being landed with a "freak". Her dad demanding her 'mother' take back such hurtful comments. Debbie refusing. She didn't quite feel like sharing those warm and fuzzy memories with Sirius, however. Not without a few shots of vodka first.

"As she put it, I was too much for them to handle," she shrugged "Didn't need a baby... _complicating_ things."

Of course, she'd used the word 'ruining' instead of complicating, but that was another thing he didn't need to know.

"That's not true," his brow furrowed as he shook his head "Not at all. They-."

" _Sirius_ ," she interrupted, practically feeling the end of her tether within her grasp "Not now. It's been...a very long, strange night. Followed by a long, strange morning."

At first he looked like he might continue arguing his point - his mouth even opening to do so. Heather sighed deeply and averted her gaze, waiting for some sort of lecture. But none came. When she looked back at him his expression changed - like he was finally actually looking at her and not at the ghosts of his friends. She dreaded to think what he might see, but in the end assumed her weariness was showing because he closed his mouth.

"Not now," he said, albeit begrudgingly "But one day."

"One day," she conceded, looking away again.

It came as no surprise to her that her avoidance of the subject had been noted. These were hardly stupid people, but even an utter dunce could have caught on to how tense she was when it came to the topic. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Sirius nodded and turned his attention to the wall above her desk.

"You can take those down, if you want to help," she said, turning her attention toward her instruments and amps.

He made no attempt to disguise his curiosity, leaning forward to peer at the few keepsakes she had pinned to her wall. Most of them were gig tickets, or flyers featuring the band, but there were a few photographs. Her on her dad's shoulders in Disneyland when she was six, herself and Scott on stage during their first gig together what now felt like a lifetime ago, and another of herself with Scott's fiance, Olivia, the previous Halloween. Ella had gone as a witch, and Heather a vampire. She resisted the strong urge to tear the latter two photographs down, and refused to even contemplate the fact that Olivia might have been in on the whole thing too. They might not have been very close, but she hated the idea of being duped in any capacity. It made her feel like an idiot. Like she should have met Scott and wondered straight away "hey, are you working for the headmaster of an illustrious magical school?".

She continued to watch Sirius from the corner of her eye as she packed away her guitar (the one Scott was certainly no longer getting), and then her bass. By the time they were both packed up, nothing remained on the wall and Sirius was inspecting an old worn plushie that made the corner of the desk its home.

"Oh, I've had that since I was a baby," she explained bashfully, quickly plucking the stag from his hands "I think my dad got me it."

Giving the fluffy toy a habitual head pat, she placed it gently amongst her things. It was old now, and certainly looked it, with one missing eye and antlers that she'd haphazardly sewn back on half a hundred times. Sirius said nothing, and with another wave of his wand the last of her belongings flew into the case and it snapped shut.

* * *

Over the course of the day, Heather was properly introduced to the occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place - of which there were _many_. Most of them greeted her with varying degrees of poorly disguised curiosity, Harry included. For the most part, she spent plenty of time with her head down, if only to stop herself from staring at...well...everything. She'd thought she knew what she was turning down when her eleven year old self declined the offer to attend Hogwarts, but just one day in her new 'home' had her marvelling at the scale of the world her current housemates lived in.

There was talk of a Ministry, a trial, political cover-ups or bribes, and of the guards they had at the prison Sirius had been locked up in - these _Dementors_ , which Sirius had talked about as minimally as possible during his joint-explanation with Remus the night before. She was almost relieved that she barely understood much of what they said, for very of little of it sounded good.

At least they were just as curious about her life as she was about theirs, which helped her feel a little less like a slack-jawed idiot. Fred, George, and their father were the easiest to contend with in some ways. The twins plied her for information on muggle pranks, delighting in her explanations of the intricacies of egging a house, while Arthur seemed fascinated by non-magical life in general. Although, she did find herself grateful that the twins seemed to hold little interest in her past and made no further attempts to press her on it after their interrupted question that morning, because she doubted they'd keep their questions to themselves, or make do with her half-answers. Molly made a few attempts at probing into what her home life might have been like ("Ginny always helps me with dinner, dear girl that she is...Say, did your mother teach you to cook, dear?"), all of which she artfully dodged and avoided as best she could.

But while there were others who were content to let any questions the might have go for now, she couldn't help but wonder how long it would last. Harry stuck chiefly to light topics, although she didn't miss how keenly he listened when she was asked a question by another. Tonks' presence was another one she was quickly grateful for - the woman was highly skilled in lightening any mood, and seemed to take little too seriously. Remus also asked no questions, joining in with conversation but making no real pushes. What she did notice, however, was that every so often when she relaxed a little too much or made a joke, he'd go quiet for a moment or perhaps share a look with Sirius. She knew why - especially when he did the same thing after Harry teased Ron about something or another. She wasn't stupid. Maybe uneducated, but certainly not dumb.

It didn't take a genius to know she was making them see ghosts. What frustrated her most was that she didn't know enough about James and Lily to know what about them she was emulating. Then there was the fact that, on some level, they were all but confirming to her that a piece of the couple remained in her yet, reflecting out of her whenever the light hit in the right way. It was like one great, final middle finger coming to her from beyond the grave.

It was late afternoon, with sunlight streaming through the windows and making the house appear just a mite warmer, before she excused herself to the room her things had been temporarily been placed in. Dinner would be in an hour or so, and she took the time to herself under the guise of a nap. True, she wasbone-tired, but she didn't much hope she'd find sleep with everything being so _much._ Only after remaining undisturbed for five consecutive minutes did she judge it safe to go to one of her stashes and knock back three or four pills, before tucking them away safely into her toiletry bag.

If she was being honest with herself, she was counting on the warm and fuzzies to set in and give her a sorely needed boost to get her through the impending dinner. For somebody who was used to living alone, suddenly being in a house packed to the brim with people was different, to say the least. Add that on top of the general culture shock, and she found herself feeling drained very quickly. She felt guilty for it, knowing they were making an effort to be welcoming, but she wasn't looking forward to the upcoming meal. It was one thing to go through awkward introductions (even though they were probably only awkward on her end, but she wasn't a people person, damnit), and quite another to sit around the table with all of them - unable to make a quick excuse to leave without being rude. Christ, she couldn't even remember the last time she ate at a table.

It wasn't the people that bothered her so much as the situation. Everything here was unfamiliar - like culture shock, but amplified by a million, and every time she thought she might have begun to find her footing, the rules changed without rhyme or reason and something completely new surprised her. In any case, the people were all perfectly nice. But wasn't that always the way? Darren had been nice - more than nice, in the beginning. A real gentleman. Scott, nicer still. Everybody was _nice_ and everybody was _pleasant_ right up until they'd worked out the best angle to slip the knife in. Or wand, in this case. But none of this was a problem for now. _For now_ they needed her, which meant _for now_ she was safe. _For now_ , she had a bargaining chip - her continued presence in this house. She'd worry about what would come after, well... _after_. It didn't sit well with her to deal in "for now"s, but she'd grown used to it. All she could really do for now was to stay on her guard. She'd fallen prey to a kind face and warm words before, and it still made her feel sick to her stomach to think of. Did she want to believe Sirius was of the same ilk? Or Remus? The Weasleys? Or even Harry? Of course not. But she hadn't wanted to believe it of Darren, either, and spent the last two years cursing herself and her own stupidity because she'd refused to open her eyes to a potentially unpleasant truth. Now she was starting the process all over again, but with Scott, who she'd once referred to as a brother.

Once upon a time she'd scolded herself often for what others would probably peg as paranoia. She'd ignore it, not wanting to approach that route for she knew once she went down it she'd be seeing monsters and enemies in every shadow. But hadn't last night proven that to be the case?

After she'd closed her bags back up, she sat back and realised she was at a slight loss for what to do next. There was a large, unkempt bed in the centre of the room, however, and that largely decided for her. Everybody she'd met was friendly so far, so she hoped whoever's bed she was about to curl up on wouldn't mind if they found her doing so. Plus, she wasn't keen on the idea of tracking down a harried Molly Weasley to ask where she _should_ nap. When she finally closed her eyes, they burned intensely from tiredness, and before she'd even fully decided to go to sleep, she was drifting off, clinging one of the feather pillows tightly to her chest.

* * *

It didn't take too long to find Heather when dinner drew near and she failed to materialise. In fact, it was rather more difficult convincing Harry not to put together a full-blown search party immediately. After checking Buckbeak's room, and breathing a sigh of relief upon making sure she hadn't run foul of the hippogriff, he went to his own, just to make sure her thing weren't there and she hadn't seen fit to slip away from under their noses. That was where he found her, curled up, fast asleep in the middle of his bed.

At first he sighed in relief - as time had passed with no shout that she'd been found, he'd slowly begun to worry, too. Even if he hid it better than his godson.

Sirius moved to wake her, but then hesitated. It was the first time he'd seen her look truly peaceful since first setting eyes on her. Even after she'd fainted, she'd twitched and turned as though trying to wake up through sheer force of will alone. He hadn't been able to clear thoughts of what she'd said to Dumbledore all day. Was there truly such animosity between herself and the muggle woman who'd taken her? He wanted to write it off as exaggeration, but after his relationship with his own parents, if it could even be called that, he was hardly naive.

He'd met the muggle couple once; following an excited James and Lily into their home to visit a baby Heather. He remembered little of the infant, who'd slept soundly in a bassinet in the corner for the entire duration of the visit. What he did remember were his mixed emotions. Joy for his friends, who managed to look so young but so very grown up at the same time as they fussed over their daughter. But there was also guilt. Perhaps if he'd been more supportive of the whole thing, they might have kept the baby. They could've easily hexed the life out of anybody who saw fit to make any clever comments, anyway.

He also remembered the muggle woman - Debbie. A slight woman with dirty blonde hair, who didn't seem capable of smiling. She made small-talk, but always distantly, and in short, clipped tones. There were one or two disapproving looks that she sent his way, too. The man, however - Brian - eased his worries significantly. In his early forties at most, with shaggy dark greying hair, and a laugh that seemed to shake the foundations of the house. He'd talked enthusiastically with Sirius about music, and the guitars he owned, bidding him to come back at any time (earning himself a pointed cough from his wife).

Another thing he remembered keenly was the stag that she'd quickly taken from him back in the apartment. She'd been right - her father had given her it. Her real one. He distinctly recalled watching James nestle it into the corner of the bassinet. For now he kept that to himself, though, no matter how much it pleased him to know she had actually saved something from her real parents - knowingly or otherwise.

James and Lily did their best to keep their visits to once a week, fearful of irking the couple if they bombarded them. Perhaps they also noticed Debbie's frosty demeanour. If they did, they didn't discuss it. Not openly. In any case, it didn't take much imagination to see how things might have gone downhill after the man died. He knew Molly was probably pondering at this very moment what Heather might have been through to turn her into the young woman who now stayed with them - she was disturbed enough by Bill's long hair. Sirius, however, felt like he understood. It made him all the more determined to help her.

After dumping Heather's things into his bedroom, until they could work out where she'd sleep, Sirius had pulled Remus aside and told him of Dumbledore's orders to be Heather's protector.

" _He's just making it up so that I feel like I'm actually doing something," he'd grumbled._

" _I wouldn't be so sure," Remus replied thoughtfully._

 _Sirius huffed._

" _Dumbledore is a wise man," Remus insisted "It may have been against orders, but you built a good rapport with her in a small amount of time. She readily accepted your innocence, after being willing to listen to your story in the first place. How many who've lived primarily in the muggle world would do the same?"_

 _Sirius nodded, if not begrudgingly._

" _She's being thrown into a strange world - in the middle of a war, no less. She will need somebody to help her. Though we all barely know her, you know her most - and you'll both be here together for the foreseeable future, regardless. It makes sense. You know it, too."_

 _At this, Sirius sighed. He did already know all of this, but it didn't mean he didn't have to hear it in order for it to truly get through to him._

" _It's also a noble cause," Remus joked "If that's what's bothering you. Guarding Heather Potter in the war?"_

He didn't laugh, but instead deflated, face darkening. What would James say if he knew he'd been grumbling over being assigned to watch over his daughter, throughout some of the most dangerous times in magical history?

Who knew? Maybe they'd even be able to make living in this miserable tomb a mite more bearable for one another. She was adjusting as well as could be expected, quieter in a group than she was one-on-one, usually preferring to observe and listen - but only for now, he suspected. Few people weren't rendered speechless by Fred and George, anyway. But she and Harry seemed to be getting along well, which was of true importance.

In the end, Sirius sighed and sat down on the free side of the bed, suspecting she wouldn't be happy if she woke up late and had to walk into dinner when everybody else was already settled and eating.

"Heather," he said softly, shaking her shoulder.

She was shooting up in an instant, one hand flying beneath the pillow she'd been hugging. Then, her eyes landed on him and recognition flooded her now-awake features.

"Forgot where I was," she rasped, raking a hand through her hair.

"What were you doing?" He nodded to the hand beneath the pillow.

"I keep a pen-knife under mine," she admitted sheepishly "Woman, with a fascination for true crime, living alone...in a bad neighbourhood."

"Smart," he nodded "Though I can't say I'm not glad there isn't one there now."

"I'm sure you could just do a...I don't know, a spell, to stop me," she waved a hand in a vaguely comical way.

"Perhaps, but you'd be surprised at how fighting without magic could work to your advantage," he shrugged "Death Eaters depend so heavily on magic that they'd never see a punch or a knife coming. Sometimes catching them off guard for that one moment is all you need."

It was clear that he was speaking from experience, so she nodded for lack of anything to say.

'Anyway," he said quickly "Enough dark talk. I woke you because it's time for dinner."

* * *

Heather had already managed to sustain a nice buzz in time for dinner, which made the whole thing feel a bit less terrifying. As owner of the house, Sirius sat at the head of the table, with Harry to his right and Heather opposite her brother. To Harry's right sat Ron (who seemed incapable of looking at her), and Hermione across from him, at Heather's other side. It was the girl who picked up the slack, explaining the Hogwarts houses to her.

"So what one are you in?" She asked, picking at the mountain of food Mrs Weasley had piled on her plate.

"Gryffindor," Harry seemed to sit up straighter as he said it.

"All of you?"

"All of us," Said Sirius proudly.

"What is it they're known for?"

"'Their daring, nerve, and chivalry, set Gryffindors apart," Hermione quoted succinctly.

"How do you memorise all that?" Ron blinked in disbelief.

He received an eye-roll for his efforts.

"Why didn't you go?" Harry asked "To Hogwarts?"

Heather wasn't sure if she was just being paranoid, but it seemed that the conversation around the table grew quieter at that.

"I...Uh...Thought I was making the right decision at the time,' she said lamely.

Of course, now she was paying the price for that decision. Watching people younger than herself perform amazing feats that nobody else seemed to bat an eyelid at. Finding out that the 'school' was a _castle_ in the _mountains,_ and not the grey prison-like box of a building she'd attended til the moment she turned sixteen. She couldn't help but wonder what she might have been able to achieve, had she accepted her place in the magical school. The thought sent a pang through her chest. Both Harry and Ron looked equally unsatisfied with her answer - though Ron's eyes remained firmly on his plate.

"I'm sorry for borrowing your pyjamas," she said as a way of changing the topic, wondering if it had somehow annoyed him "I'd wash them for you, but I somehow doubt there's a washing machine around here."

He blinked owlishly at her for a moment, before snapping out of it, coughing and shaking his head "No! No. It's great - er, fine. Honestly. Completely fine."

Both Harry and Hermione fixed their friend with odd looks, but before she could question it, Sirius interceded.

"Well, now that your things are here, we'll see about finding you a proper place to sleep."

"I've been thinking on that," Molly Weasley joined the conversation "We could fit a travel cot in the room with Arthur and I for Ginny, and Heather could share room with Hermione."

Ginny looked none too pleased at this suggestion, and Heather had a feeling such a move would deprive the teenage girl of cherished late night girl-talk.

"No, that's okay," Heather said quickly "I don't sleep much anyway, I'll just take the sofa in the living room."

"Oh we can't have you without a bed, dear," Molly tutted "You need rest! Especially after last night."

And she'd find none bunking with her brother's school friend, who regarded her with curious looks every five minutes - albeit a little more subtly than some of the house's other occupants.

"Ickle Ginny staying in mummy's room, eh? Having bad dreams, Gin?" Fred teased his sister lightly with a grin.

"If you don't mind yourself, it'll be you in her place!" Molly scolded as Ginny pulled a face at him.

"What, and stick poor Heather in with George?" Fred did a good job of acting scandalised "Hasn't the poor woman been through enough?"

"Not if what she said about them and their wands are true," Heather commented under her breath to Sirius, who choked on his drink in response.

He regarded her with a look akin to approval, before snickering and setting down his glass.

"She can have Regulus' room," he interrupted the fighting of the Weasley family "But I imagine you'll have to scour the room for anything cursed, first. Dodgy git, my brother was."

It took her a moment to realise he wasn't joking about the "cursed" comment, and bit back an assurance that she didn't want that room. If it was a space she could go to in order to be alone, she'd seize it with both hands - bad joujou or not.

The table quietened once more at this, nobody finding issue with the suggestion. Then they all nodded, and conversation ensued.

"So, what Hogwarts House do you think you'd have been in?" Hermione was the one to resume conversation with her.

"Well I only know the one so far," she shrugged "There are three others, right? Four altogether?"

"There's also Ravenclaw - 'where those of wit and learning will always find their kind.'"

Heather made a face. She'd go back to education no sooner than the teachers would ask her to return.

"Or Hufflepuff? 'Where they are just and loyal. Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil."

Heather shrugged, the description failing to resonate much with her...and not being too fond of the idea of being described as a 'hufflepuff', which sounded like it could be some kind of fluffy forest creature. Nothing more was said, however.

"And the fourth?" She prompted.

Harry and Sirius shared a dark look.

"The fourth...is Slytherin," Hermione said, glancing at the others as though expecting them to stop her.

"And what's their deal?" She asked, unsure of why they were acting so strangely "Seems like you have the other three memorised."

Hermione began to recite reluctantly "'Those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends…'"

"I could get into that," she shrugged.

From the looks shared around the table, as well as the awkward silence, she knew immediately that she'd said the entirely wrong thing.

"Slytherin was Voldemort's House," Remus was the one to take pity on her and explain.

Well, shit. What was more alarming to her than her blunder was the way several of the table's occupants visibly shuddered or flinched at the name alone. Their annoyance towards Remus for saying it during dinner quickly distracted from her blunder - and judging by the small smile he offered her, it was intentional. She returned it as best she could, but couldn't bring herself to speak up again during the course of the meal. What would she say next? "The Death Eaters have themselves some cool masks, maybe I'll join their club"? She said little for the rest of dinner.

* * *

It was sometime after dinner, when she was sitting alone by the window in the living room, that Harry approached her.

"Can I have a minute? I wanted to show you something."

Heather quickly agreed and allowed him to lead her up the stairs to the room he shared with Ron. At first she wondered if he was going to display some grand magical feat, but instead he retrieved a small, worn leather-bound book from a trunk at the foot of the bed. Heather accepted it slowly, as if it might bite.

"I didn't know whether to show you or not," he said a little awkwardly, sitting across from her on the other bed "But if it were me, I'd want to see them."

It took her a moment to realise what she was looking at when she opened the book. In the middle of the page sat a photograph, but not a normal one. Like the portraits in the house, it moved - although it didn't talk to her. Thank god. A man and a woman danced around the frame before turning to laugh and smile up at her. The woman's hair was the same fiery red that threatened to show at the roots of Heather's hair, and there was something in the man's face that reminded her of photographs she'd seen of herself. He was certainly a dead-ringer for her brother. If she'd ever had any doubt about them being siblings, she had none now.

She'd never seen them before. Having them here before her now, hugging and smiling, made them feel remarkably real. Like she was intruding on a moment not meant for her eyes. Emotions warred within her now. Some were old and dormant, awoken by the photograph - anger at them for giving her up, curiosity about what they might have been like. Others were new - chiefly sadness and grief, now that she knew the full story of what happened to them, and they were more people than a vague concept in the back of her mind. Jesus, they were so _young_...her own age, if she had to hazard a guess.

The... _fucked-up_ -ness of the entire situation hit her anew and she closed the book, not wanting to see more. She continued to grip it, however, hoping to disguise how her hands shook.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Harry looked vaguely horrified.

It was then that she realised her eyes were burning with unshed tears. Her horror matched his then and she quickly shook her head, blinking furiously.

"You didn't," she choked out a laugh "It's just, uh, a lot. You know?"

He gave a knowing nod "Yeah. I know."

For a moment the look on Harry's face mirrored the one she'd spotted on Sirius', confirming that he had seen things nobody should ever have to see, nevermind a boy of fifteen. But if he was anything like her, he wouldn't thank her for sympathy or anything like it. So she remained silent.

"I was going to ask this morning, but then Fred and George…" he gave a huff before continuing "The attack last night. Sirius told me you saw the Death Eaters."

"Two of them, yeah."

She put the book down on the bed beside her, happy to have an excuse to avoid the subject of it.

"Was there anything about them that you noticed?" He asked eagerly "Anything you could see about them? Did one of them have long blond hair? Or sort of shoulder-length greasy black hair?"

Heather blinked. Those were some awfully specific questions.

"Uh...no - well, I don't _know_. They wore masks and hoods, I couldn't see anything."

With the heavy black robes, it was a task to even tell if they were men or women. She also left out the fact that she'd spent much of the attack allowing Sirius to drag her from the club, keeping her head down and praying none of brightly coloured flying bolts of magic would hit their mark. It didn't leave much time to stop and inspect her attackers. Hell, at the time she'd assumed that Remus and Sirius knew exactly who they were.

"This Ministry of yours," she frowned "Couldn't they work out who it was?"

"They're useless," Harry replied ruefully "They don't even want to admit that Voldemort's back, nevermind do anything to help stop him."

"I suppose it's down to us, then," Heather said quietly.

As soon as she spoke them she wondered if the words weren't a mistake. What could _she_ do? But at her response, something changed in Harry's expression. There was a fine line between anger and determination, but she saw him cross it, his back straightening and a small smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

"I suppose it is."

 **A/N: Not a whole lot of conflict yet, while everybody mostly remains in the polite "getting to know each other" phase...but that won't last. As always, thank you for reading/subscribing/favouriting/reviewing!**


	7. Chapter 7

Once Regulus' room was scoured for cursed objects and came up empty, Heather's belongings were moved there. The moment she was left alone for the night, she quickly locked the door and began to root out her various stashes. It took twenty minutes of counting, recounting, and grumbling, to work out a mental time-table of how long she had before she'd run out. She could make it last a bit longer if she skipped a dose here or there, or tried to not take any until well into each night, but one thing was inevitable. She'd be going through serious withdrawals here, one way or another. Unless they managed to win this war of theirs before the year was out. Doubtful.

All she could really do was try to wean herself off of them slowly to make the process go a little easier, but she didn't fancy her chances in succeeding at that. All it took was a handful of dark thoughts, or a moment of panic she couldn't shake, and she'd be running to the stash. She might've been an addict, but at least she was a self-aware one. The withdrawals would be hell, too, given the fact that she'd been taking the pills excessively for longer than she cared to admit. She just hoped her housemates were blind enough to the world of drugs to write her sickness off as the flu when it came about.

In truth, maybe the whole thing was a silver lining in her confinement. She knew her habit had developed into a problem; the kind Guns n' Roses used to sing about - she used to do a little but a little wouldn't do it, so the 'little' got more and more. She started out taking them to save money on drinks when she partied. Now? Now they were breakfast, lunch, and dinner. What was also apparent was the fact that she'd have to stop at some point. These were serious, heavy duty painkillers. Her tolerance rose with her dependence, and it would be too easy to push her luck with dosages and pay dearly for it. How little she usually cared about that small fact scared her in itself, during the times that she did care. However, there was also no way she'd stop if she had to get up on stage every night.

Sighing, she quickly funnelled the pills back into their various disguises and hid them away again before anyone could appear out of thin air, leaving four on the bed. Then she turned her attention to the two packs of cigarettes she had to her name. She supposed she'd be quitting those, too. Sure it would be easier to swindle somebody with outside privileges into getting her more of those than it would be with the pills, but now she had no source of income it probably wouldn't be a good idea. Saying a silent prayer for her future self, she downed the four she'd left out all at once before picking her guitar up out of the case.

Discovering that none of her electronics would work here was a particularly nasty surprise (she already missed her walkman), but it wasn't like she could use an amp here anyway, not with so many potential people to disturb, so instead she quietly strummed whatever riffs and melodies entered her head. Music had always been her escape - even moreso before she was introduced to the wondrous world of narcotics. After spending the entire day with her mind racing, it was nice to be able to switch it off. She wasn't sure how long she'd been playing before there was a knock at the door.

Freezing, Heather winced internally. Was she keeping somebody awake? Sound didn't carry too much in the house, with the exception of the hallways, which seemed to creak and groan with every breeze. She propped the guitar up against the bed before padding to the door. It unlocked and opened to reveal Sirius standing there looking just as tired as she felt.

"Fancy a drink? Seems like neither of us plans on sleeping."

Heather tried to hide her surprise. She'd been expecting a lecture on noise levels, or a somewhat awkward request to keep it down. But then she smiled.

"I'll meet you downstairs in a minute."

Shrugging on a knitted oversized black cardigan over her tank top and pyjama shorts, she then pulled on a thick pair of woolly socks. Despite it being the tail-end of summer, the house seemed to be permanently chilly. Finally, she shoved on her glasses before leaving the room and closing it gently behind her. The house was pitch-black, with only the light shining under a handful of the doors to help her see, but she picked her way down the stairs easily enough, already feeling a little light-headed from the painkillers.

By the time she reached the living room, there was a fire burning and Sirius was pouring the drinks.

"A fellow night owl, then?" He asked, turning his head towards her as she entered.

Heather accepted one of the glasses before taking a seat, her legs tucked beneath her. Sirius sprawled across the opposite sofa.

"I'm used to being awake at night," she admitted, inspecting the contents of the glass "What's this?"

"Firewhisky," he replied "I'd recommend going slowly, since you're not used to it."

"Are you calling me a lightweight?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Under different circumstances she might take the words as a challenge. She settled for taking a small sip, not relishing the idea of Sirius having to carry her up the stairs. The stuff wasn't half bad, burning on the way down but not hurting. It did wonders to combat the chill in the house, at any rate.

"You and Harry seem to be getting along well."

Heather thought of the photo album, but resisted the urge to mention it. Sirius had promised her a conversation about Lily and James, and she didn't want to tempt him into having that conversation now. Or ever, really. Instead, she recalled Harry's questions.

"He asked me some strange questions about the attackers - the Death Eaters. If they had blond hair or...what was it - greasy black hair?"

Sirius laughed loudly at that - the bark-like laugh that was fast becoming familiar - reclining back where he sat.

"Does he think he knows who they were?" She pressed.

"Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape, I imagine," he said darkly "With good reason, too."

"Does the Ministry know about them?"

"The Ministry will remain in Malfoy's pocket as long as there's money in there," he snorted "They've already written last night's incident off as a prank gone wrong. _Fireworks_. It won't even make the papers in our world."

At this, her heart fell. Although she wasn't quite sure why. Wasn't this best for her? If they'd started looking deeply into it, it'd be no time before they were looking for _her_ to give some sort of witness statement. One thing, however, nagged at her. How many non-magical folk (the word 'muggle' tasted too much like an insult) had been injured that night? Surely somebody had to have gotten hurt, what with the amount of people who were packed between herself and the two Death Eaters. Evidently this 'Ministry' had decided saving face was worth more than justice.

"If they won't open their eyes to Dementors, they'll no sooner see Death Eaters standing plainly before them," Sirius sighed in response to the look on her face.

"How do you think the trial will go?"

He fell silent. Face turning thoughtful, he mulled over the question for a while, leaving Heather to take another sip of her drink.

"They're hell-bent on discrediting Harry, that much is certain...but he's clever, and he has wise, powerful people on his side. Honestly? It could go either way."

Well, his answer didn't inspire much hope in her, but it could have been a lot worse.

"What would his punishment be?"

"They'd break his wand and expel him from Hogwarts, leaving him to live as a…" he stopped short, realising who he was talking to.

"Muggle?" She supplied, raising her eyebrows "That doesn't seem _so_ bad. Is a life without magic really so feared?"

"Could you have turned it down, had you seen it first?" He countered pointedly.

"Touche," she murmured into her glass.

"That was unkind of me," he sighed in way of an apology, before eyeing her curiously "...Do you regret it?"

Under other circumstances she would have lied or deflected the question. But under these circumstances, she was feeling pleasantly hazy and the liquor made her feel just a little bold, loosening her lips.

"Every day," she replied quietly.

He blinked in surprise at what might have been the first straight answer she'd given to a question yet, before lowering his gaze and nodding solemnly. But then he looked back up, the playful gleam back in his eyes and that goddamn handsome smirk on his face.

"Well, now you can count the infamous Sirius Black among your friends, I can hex anybody you wish you had been able to. Once we've won this war."

He made it sound so simple, but it was nice to hear their situation referenced lightly, and not paired with an ashen face or worried whispers.

Heather laughed, relaxing "It's a long list."

"I happen to know a lot of hexes," he teased.

At this she grinned, shaking her head slightly. If she had to be cell-mates with anybody in the Order, she was quickly finding herself glad that it was Sirius.

* * *

When Heather awoke the next morning in 12 Grimmauld Place, she was already beginning to get sick of the place. Maybe it was just a combination of tiredness, and the way the cold grey daylight shone into the dreary bedroom, but the whole house just seemed to exude a foreboding feeling that made her want to curl back up into the covers and pretend she was anywhere else. What didn't help was the heavy feeling making itself at home in the middle of her chest that she knew from experience she'd have a hard time shaking off. It could've also had something to do with the slight headache from the previous night's drinking.

Exchanging boxer shorts for sweatpants and throwing her unruly hair into a messy bun, she followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen.

"Oh, a late riser," Molly greeted her warmly as she padded into the room.

Heather dreaded to think what time constituted as early if ten-thirty was 'late', but smiled and thanked the Weasley matriarch as she handed her a huge mug of piping hot coffee.

"Is Harry not up yet?" She joined Ron, Hermione, and Ginny at the kitchen table.

"He's at his trial," Ginny answered, shoulders hunched forward as she grimaced at the food on her plate.

"They're due back any time now," Hermione added.

Hermione was equally as tense as her friend, eyes flickering between the book in front of her and the clock on the wall every few moments. Ron was the only one who didn't bother pretending to focus on something else, drumming his fingertips against the table as he watched the kitchen door for any sign of Harry's return.

"Shouldn't he already be back?" Ron asked doubtfully.

"How did you sleep, dear?" Molly interrupted, placing a plate piled high with food in front of her.

She gotten somewhere between two and three hours sleep, in truth.

"I slept well," she rubbed her eyes "The bed is comfortable."

The motherly woman nodded happily at this, before turning her attention to the three teenagers "There's still lots to be done around here, if you're finished eating. Worrying won't change a thing."

The three began to put more effort into their show of eating breakfast.

"How long _did_ you sleep, Heather? You look so tired."

Heather resisted the urge to bristle. Of course, she knew that Molly meant well, but she wasn't used to being, well, _mothered_. Up until now she'd lived alone for years, so there was nobody to care or even notice whether she ate or slept or fell into a damn coma. She wasn't used to people commenting upon her habits.

"You know, I'm sure I heard you and Sirius up at...well, must have been past two in the morning!"

Ah. So _that_ was what she wanted to discuss.

"We're both night owls," she shrugged.

Suddenly keenly aware of the four sets of eyes on her, she continued talking to fill the silence "Is Sirius up yet?"

"Merlin only knows," Molly sighed "Remus should be here shortly for news of the trial. I _was_ hoping they'd send word of the results ahead, but..."

She gave another flustered sigh and turned her head towards the clock. Luckily, they didn't have to wait long before a knock sounded at the door. What Heather did not anticipate was the shrieking that followed.

"Blood traitors!" A blood-curdling screech shook the house "Half-breeds!"

Freezing stiff in her seat, her head whipped around in search of the owner of the voice, stunned when nobody else at the table seemed to react, other than to sigh or groan.

"Will somebody shut that daft bint up!" Came Sirius' muffled shout from one of the higher levels.

"What _is_ that?!" She turned to the teenagers.

"His mum," Ginny made a face "Her portrait, I mean. If we're quiet enough, she doesn't wake up."

Unable to even muster the energy to be surprised, Heather glanced at the ceiling and grimaced. Well, it wasn't the most surprising thing she'd come across so far. Mrs Black sounded about as pleasant as Debbie - but maybe not quite as shrill. Then, however, another voice rang through the house, and with a far more pleasant announcement.

"Cleared! Of all charges!" Arthur called as soon as the front door groaned open.

The house collectively cheered, and even Heather found herself slumping with relief for her brother. When Sirius finally shut his mother's portrait up, he entered the kitchen and was more than a little triumphant to find the Potter siblings sitting side-by-side, chatting animatedly. Heather squeezed her brother's shoulder before, with a quick glance towards Molly, sneaking a great deal of her breakfast onto his plate. Harry, looking more relaxed than he'd seen him in days, tucked in happily.

* * *

"Tell me what Dumbledore said to you again," Harry demanded "There must be _something_ else."

Heather must have told him three or four times already - although she'd left out the detail of Scott's betrayal. On one level it was still too fresh to talk about, but in truth she was more than a little mortified. She'd fallen for his act hook, line, and sinker, and over the course of the day spent far longer than she cared to admit trying to remember any red flags she might have missed. Shaking her head to dispel any such thoughts from returning, she remembered another piece of information she'd yet to tell the trio.

"Well he did appoint Sirius to watch over me," she waved a hand, still trying not to feel insulted about the fact that she'd been assigned a babysitter "But nothing of great value about the war, or the trial, or you. I don't know why he wouldn't talk to you at the trial, Harry, I really don't."

"He's a busy man," Hermione jumped in "Busier than ever now that You-Know-Who is back."

"He told Sirius to watch over you?" Harry interjected, ignoring Hermione's reassurances "Does that mean you're still in danger?"

"Not as long as I stay here," she shifted uncomfortably, wishing she was as convinced as she managed to sound "It just makes sense. We're both here all the time anyway."

"This is the safest place bar Hogwarts," Ron agreed "S'why we're all here."

Heather resisted the urge to ask just how safe Hogwarts was, given all that seemed to go on there every year. In the past, when she thought of war, it was a thing of history books and _The Lord of the Rings_ , not an evil madman with plans geared specifically towards herself and her fam- people she knew. It was far too soon for her to start labelling these people family. No matter how welcoming. It was enough to try and wrap her head around having relatives in the first place, even if it was just the one. Now she had to rely on others, not just for the roof over her head, but also for protection. That was when it hit her. Of course. How hadn't she thought of it before?

"Do you think I could learn?" She asked "Magic, I mean."

Hermione looked away uncomfortably, as did Ron, and even Harry's face fell. He opened his mouth to give an answer she was sure she wouldn't like...but then he stopped short, brow furrowed.

"That's...not actually a bad idea," he said slowly, wheels almost visibly turning in his mind.

"Harry!" Hermione protested, utterly aghast "Of course we can't teach-."

"She can't be defenseless in the middle of a _war_ , Hermione!"

"I understand that," Hermione turned towards Heather imploringly "Genuinely, I do. But...what we learn at Hogwarts is challenging even _with_ proper professors, and the library, _and_ the homework. I think we're underestimating the difficulties of homeschooling a witch."

"Well she won't need to know potions, or ancient runes, will she?" Ron cut in and Heather found herself delighted that he'd overcome his shyness around her at his words "Defense Against the Dark Arts and, I dunno, Charms would do it."

"And where would she get a wand, Ronald?"

Ron's face fell, but Harry's excitement remained.

"She can borrow Sirius', for now. He can teach her."

When Hermione gaped at him in disbelief instead of arguing, Heather knew he was onto something.

"Would Sirius do that?" She asked, hardly daring to hope.

"We can ask him tonight, after dinner," Harry replied "He'll definitely hear us out, if nothing else. Once he does, he'll have to see that we have a point."

They didn't get much of a chance to formulate a plan over the course of the day. It was something best kept quiet from those who wouldn't approve (which Harry seemed to suspect would be most of the adult residents) and so they were reduced to talking about it in hushed whispers, when they managed to get a few brief moments alone.

It was only after dinner, when everybody remained chatting in the kitchen, that they pulled Sirius into the empty study to propose their idea.

"You want me to teach you magic?" He blinked in surprise.

"You don't think it's a good idea?" She bit her lip.

"I didn't say that," he shook his head "It's a bloody marvellous idea, actually. I can't believe it didn't occur to me before."

"So it wouldn't be...I don't know, illegal or anything?"

"Oh we'll definitely be breaking a law or two," he waved a hand dismissively "But we'll have bigger problems on our hands than unauthorised magic should the Ministry come knocking. What's important is that you're an adult - there won't be a trace on you. They won't have any way of knowing."

"Professor Lupin could help too, right?" Harry pressed "I'd have never learned the patronus charm without his help."

"Best leave Moony out of it for now," Sirius shook his head "Once Heather already knows a few spells and we have proof it's a good idea, we can think about how we'll get the others on-side."

"And by then it'll be too late for them to stop us," Heather added thoughtfully.

"You catch on quickly," Sirius smirked, earning a small smile in return "I'm assuming only Ron and Hermione know of this so far?"

They both nodded.

"Well, keep it that way for now. I can teach you at night, and if anybody asks we'll just say I'm educating you on the Magical world - not a complete lie."

"Can I come?"Harry asked eagerly "I could help."

"No," Sirius said gently, placing a placating hand on Harry's shoulder "If Molly hears too many of us getting up in the middle of the night, it'll only be a matter of time before she tries to put a stop to it."

Heather couldn't help but agree, remembering the woman's questions over breakfast- and felt guilty for doing so, when she saw Harry's disappointment. Still, she was more than a little relieved at Sirius' refusal. It wasn't that she didn't want Harry there, but she had a feeling that learning magic in front of him would be like trying to learn guitar in front of Slash - painful, and embarrassing. She'd already seen what Fred and George could do, and they weren't even through with school yet. Although they made it look easy, she doubted it would be so simple. Especially for her - she'd hadn't grown up with magic in any sense of the word.

"I could get down here without anybody hearing," Harry protested, visibly insulted.

"Just for now," Sirius placated "I imagine everybody will know by Christmas, and by that time you can _teach_ the lessons for all it'll matter."

Her brother stopped arguing, but remained visibly disgruntled.

"I'll tell you everything about what I'm learning anyway," Heather attempted to dispel the atmosphere that was quickly building.

"Will you be allowed?" He sniped a little.

The boy turned his glare to her as he did so, and Heather wished she could think of anything other than how strange it was to see her own scowl mirrored in another.

"I'm a grown ass woman, who's going to stop me?" She countered.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sirius stifle a smile at this.

"Well, don't worry about it. It's just another thing I'm being kept out of, right?"

Before she could argue with this, Harry was up and leaving the room, the door all but slamming closed behind him.

"Is he pissed off at me?" She asked doubtfully, eyeing the closed door.

"He's...angry about a lot of things at the moment," replied Sirius "You have to forgive him."

Heather did. She'd been through her fair share of teen angst, and then some, and none of it with an evil wizard out to get her.

"The Order is keeping him out of the loop and he has every right to be annoyed by it. It might be with his best interests at heart, but keeping him in the dark won't help," he explained grimly.

"None of them have the luxury of a carefree youth," Heather agreed softly.

She'd been taken aback by how grown up the teenagers seemed to be (well, most of the time), as she was pretty sure she spent most of her own fifteenth year getting drunk in various fields and parks. She certainly couldn't think of many people that mature who she'd known at that age. Satisfied that she hadn't mortally offended her new and only living relative, she turned her mind back to the matter at hand.

Magic. Even the word filled her with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. But what if she couldn't learn? Back in school she'd had the ability to get decent grades (or so her teachers often insisted with no small amount of exasperation), but none of the desire it took to utilise that ability. The only time she had much of a work ethic was when it came to music. Turning back to Sirius, she lowered her voice.

"Can I ask you a question? About magic?"

"I _am_ your delegated mentor."

Mentor. Well, she preferred it to 'babysitter' or 'guardian'.

"Are you sure I'll be able to learn?" She asked hesitantly, hating how weak the question probably made her sound.

"Of course," he said as though he'd never considered otherwise "You were offered a place in Hogwarts, weren't you? Haven't you ever made something inexplicable happen?"

Heather grimaced.

"Exactly," he replied "All I'm going to do is help you _hone_ that ability."

Part of her wanted to argue, or press the idea that she might not be able to, if only so she could mask her disappointment if that turned out to be the case. But how could she? This was one case where she had no choice but to defer to better judgement. It wasn't something she was used to, nor did she want to grow used to it.

However, lurking beneath her habitual pessimism was something she did her best to hide. Hope. Sure, it probably wouldn't be quick or easy, but the idea of being able to undo her disastrous pre-teen mistake and learn magic after all was...completely tantalising. It would also give her something to think about other than her waning drug supply, and Lord Voldemort.

They'd lapsed into a comfortable silence when the look Sirius sent the door told her she wouldn't like what he was going to say next.

"That talk we need to have about your pa-." He paused, and then sighed before correcting himself "About James and Lily. I really do think it's best we get it out of the way. You should know the truth, Heather."

And what would the truth be? Some sob story about how they only ever wanted the best for her? Good intentions weren't of any use to her now, and they'd certainly never helped her any in the past. But Sirius did raise one good point - life would be easier if they were on the same page. Or at least if they knew where the other stood. The image of the couple dancing around the photo frame repeated on a loop in her head. _They didn't want you_ , a voice she'd thought herself long rid of stirred in the back of her mind, _Who would, after all?_

Taking her silence as submission, he seemed to think for a moment before opening his mouth to speak. Then, something happened that made Heather wonder if god didn't exist after all. The door banged open and the Weasleys poured in, most mid-conversation, with Remus and a tray of floating desserts holding up the rear.

"Another time, then, I suppose," she said quickly before Sirius could suggest they move to another room.

Quickly standing, she made her way to Ginny and Hermione as they joined the group. She did her best not to look at Sirius, nor Remus (who hadn't missed her hasty retreat) for the rest of the night.

* * *

Sirius couldn't be too exasperated that his attempt to broach the so-far forbidden topic of Heather's birth had been interrupted. Or at least, that's what he told himself. There would be more than enough time for that during their magic lessons anyhow - with less chance of being overheard. He also reminded himself firmly that she'd been in the house for less than forty-eight hours. Pushing too hard might ruin any progress he felt like he might have made so far.

In truth, the woman baffled him. Even in such a short span of time, it was like she was two different people. Sometimes she was twitchy and almost alarmingly quiet, barely even capable of eye contact, much less a conversation. But other times, like the previous night, she was breezy - telling jokes, or making animated conversation, and answering questions he'd expect her to avoid with a frankness that took him aback.

It wasn't just down to the Firewhisky either, nor the alcohol in the club, back before she knew who he really was, because he'd noticed it over the course of the day, and he was sure she hadn't been drinking then. Perhaps it was just the adjustment taking its toll. Over the course of two days she'd had one hell of a rug yanked out from under her feet. It was enough to make anybody act strangely. Then, of course, there was the fact that he didn't quite know her well enough to know if this behaviour was out of character or not. He supposed time would tell, but that wasn't an answer he liked. In fact, it was one he heard far too often these days.

This wasn't an easy time for any of them, but at least the others had occupations to pass the time. What was he doing? A whole lot of waiting. Well, until now. Now he had a far more exciting venture ahead of him. Turning Heather Potter into a witch prepared for a fight (or at least some semblance of one). He couldn't pretend the idea didn't thrill him, even though he could already hear Moony arguing against it in the back of his mind. He could even see about getting her a wand from the black market, but only once everybody knew what was happening - doing so would require Mundungus' help, and Merlin knew that one didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Maybe, just maybe, if they managed to make the Ministry see sense and eventually clear his name, they might even be able to take her to Ollivander's.

But he was already getting ahead of himself. For now, he would wait until he had a chance to slip away and have a poke around his and Regulus' things for some old spell-books from first year. There had to be some gathering dust in an old wardrobe somewhere. Looking around the now packed living room, his brow furrowed when he realised Harry had not returned. He'd have to find time to make amends with his godson, too, then.

"You look suspiciously cheerful," Remus commented, joining him where he sat.

"I'm always cheerful," he smirked in response.

Remus gave a snort but wisely chose not to argue, likely knowing it'd get him nowhere.

 **A/N: I'm sorry if there are any formatting issues in this one - I've found I churn out chapters more quickly if I write them on my iPad using a bluetooth keyboard, but that means I'm engaged in a constant war with autocorrect. I think I caught all of the mistakes, though! As always, I'm super grateful for any favourites, follows, and reviews!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I write all of my first drafts by hand, and I was dumb enough to lose this draft. Then, as sod's law dictates, when I gave up looking and started to rewrite it...I found the original. Unfortunately this is why I couldn't send out any previews this time, but I should be able to go back to doing so for the next chapter. Anyway, here you go!**

Midnight found Heather back in the living room with Sirius, woefully sober, and discussing magic. They both sat on the floor, if only to make this whole "lesson" thing feel a bit more informal, cross-legged with their backs to the fire, facing the coffee table, on which sat a feather and a rather ragged tome.

"So using your wand isn't weird of me, is it? Like the magic equivalent of using your toothbrush or something?"

He seemed to find this question particularly funny, stifling a laugh (probably for the sake of their secrecy) before shaking his head.

"It's...personal, I suppose, but nothing quite like that. I wouldn't go grabbing others' wands without asking first though."

"No non-consensual wand-grabbing, understood," she fought to keep a straight face even as she said it.

Sure, she was a little more at ease around Sirius than the others, but she still had to joke to take the edge off of the entire situation. Luckily he seemed to understand - although the rueful look he gave her in return might have been a lot more effective had he managed to stifle his smirk. _Why_ she felt more at ease around Sirius remained a mystery to her, though. It could be that she'd met him first, but she'd known Remus for just as long and, nice as the man was, she still felt painfully awkward making small-talk with him.

"Under different circumstances none of this would even be an issue. We could take you to Ollivander's to get a proper wand of your own, but that will have to wait until the Wizarding world is quite ready to know about you."

"Ollivander's?" She echoed slowly.

"The best wand shop in Britain, easily. It's in Diagon Alley, all of the first years go there to get their wands before heading to Hogwarts."

The teenagers had already explained Diagon Alley to her, often and with great enthusiasm. It was all Heather could do to hide her budding jealousy at their upcoming trip there, knowing she'd be under orders to remain firmly indoors with Sirius. In truth, she hadn't realised the full extent to which magic seeped its way into every aspect of the lives of those who used it until she'd learned of the pets, sports, potions, foods, books - and even the fashion. Jeans pockets were no good for wands, she supposed.

"Any advice on how I should choose mine? Should the time come…"

" _It_ chooses _you_ , actually."

Heather blinked, waiting for him to laugh or give away the joke.

"Don't look at me like that," he chuckled "Nothing should surprise you by now."

"Touché," she replied with a sigh "So...It's like the Sorting Hat?"

"In a way," he agreed "Although wand type isn't quite as important as your Hogwarts house. You might say it's more what you do with it."

A combination of nervous energy and a streak of pure immaturity stopped her from disguising her laughter at this one, glad she wasn't the only one prone to "wand" jokes.

"You're a bad influence on me, it seems," he joked before bringing her attention to the old, worn leather-bound book sitting on the coffee table beside them.

It was an old school book that Sirius seemed to have found among the hoards of his family's old belongings. Next to it, on the coffee table, sat a speckled grey feather.

"The spell itself is important - the words you say and so on - but you must move the wand correctly."

"Do you _have_ to have a wand?" she asked doubtfully "I've made things happen before and I didn't…"

"No, it's not vital, but wandless magic is rather advanced. I suspect when you did make things happen you were upset, or angry…" he paused, scrutinising her expression for some sort of hint, but shrugged and continued when she gave none "Anyhow, let's not run before we can walk."

He was beginning to sound like Remus, Heather thought. From what she'd been able to gauge of the two, Sirius was very much more of a hellion. She'd half expected his first lesson to be on fire-balls or something equally flashy - although she'd be lying if she said she was disappointed to be wrong. Of all of the terrifying and intimidating guesses she'd taken at what her first spell might be, this was a dream - it was simple enough, and unlikely to kill anybody should it go wrong. She even felt a little guilty as being surprised at Sirius' practical choice. Sure, it was a little underwhelming, but after the week she'd just had underwhelming was good. And _Wingardium Leviosa_ , while underwhelming, was no less exciting to try.

Sirius drew his wand from his pocket and placed it gently in her right hand, adjusting her grip carefully afterwards. The hair at the back of her neck stood up as he did, as her mind raced in its attempts to comprehend that she was about to perform real magic.

"Now, move it as I showed you, and pronounce the words clearly."

He watched with such avid excitement in his eyes that she couldn't _not_ feel the pressure, her every move under a microscope. It was like being back on stage. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath in through her nose, and then slowly out through her mouth, much like she always did before a show. When she opened her eyes, she stared intently at the feather.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she said, shaking the wand at it.

Her voice wavered, and the wand felt awkward in her hand - if only for how ridiculous she felt. She kept expecting Sirius to burst into fits of laughter and exclaim that he couldn't believe she really thought he'd teach her _magic_. As if sensing her fear, the feather did little other than twitch on the tabletop, but that could have been down to how draughty the house was. Shoulders slumping, she half expected Sirius to sigh in annoyance, or even begin to laugh at her. Which would be worse, she wondered? Instead his lips twitched into an unsurprised, but not unkind, smile.

"Very few manage it perfectly the first time," he moved closer, carefully taking hold of her forearm in order to move her hand smoothly through the correct gesture "Don't tense up your wrist so much - but don't let it go limp either - it should be a fluid movement. Don't rush through it, and try not to jerk or shake your hand."

Nodding, and doing her best to take all of his feedback onboard - she relaxed her shoulders and did her best not to turn her gaze into a glare as she returned her attention to the feather. When Sirius let go, she tried again. The results were annoyingly similar. Huffing, she resisted the strong urge to drop the wand and declare the whole venture a failure. She wouldn't be beaten so easily, damnit!

Another three attempts went by with little to no result.

"Son of a bitch," she grumbled, setting the wand down on the coffee table.

Sirius, however, didn't share her discouragement. Standing, he moved over to the small bar where various bottles of strange, and presumably magical, liquor was stored.

"We can take a break for a minute. You were never going to get it on the first try, you know. Nobody expects you to. I certainly don't."

"Eleven year olds can do this," she scoffed at his back, shaking her head.

"And most of those eleven year olds have grown up around magic - and _all_ of them have a real teacher."

"Your teaching is just fine," she replied "Your _student_ , however…"

"Are you always this hard on yourself?" His tone remained light, but the way his eyes were glued to her face as he returned holding two small glasses of firewhisky belied his seriousness.

Heather opened her mouth to respond but then snapped it shut again. The question had caught her off-guard and her reaction was to freeze up, unsure of how to respond. Mercifully, he noticed her discomfort and saved her the trouble.

"What about your instruments? It must have taken some time to get so good."

She wanted to protest that she wasn't _that_ good - not on bass, at least, and he hadn't seen her play much of anything else. Her best was piano, by far. However, he'd already commented on her negativity, and...well, he wasn't strictly wrong. Music had long felt like the only thing she was any good at. She'd hardly be throwing her all into it if it didn't feel like her only real option.

"My dad was determined to get me into it - probably had me sitting at a piano before I could even walk. I can't remember a time when I didn't know it. Never had much patience for anything I wasn't immediately good at after."

He didn't grimace when she called Brian her dad this time, at least - although he did break eye contact.

"I thought I was doing all of it right the last couple of times," she admitted, frustration seeping into her tone.

"You were, as far as the technicalities go," he reassured "But you're being too unsure of yourself. I can _see_ that you don't even expect it to happen. You have to know that it will."

Jesus, her hand was itching to go to her pack of cigarettes already. She thought the hardest part would be the pronunciation or something, and all of this "believe in yourself!" Was a bit too self-help sounding for her liking. But she did have to admit it made sense. Nothing made a new band bomb harder in front of a crowd was if it was obvious that even they weren't feeling their own music. But music was familiar territory - her own stomping ground. Magic was new, and it was scary, no matter how much she'd always wanted it, because now her life depended on it in a much more visceral way than it ever would on music. Taking a determined breath in, she picked up the wand again (and tried not to be too pleased about Sirius' responding proud smile).

"Wingardium Leviosa," she tried once more.

Her heart leapt with the feather as it lifted a few inches into the air - but fell with it again a moment later. Sirius sat up with joy, however, and only barely managed to stop himself clapping his hands together, remembering at the last moment that these meetings were supposed to be secret.

"Good! Very good!" He praised "You just lost focus when it began to work - now all you have to do is sustain it."

Heather nodded, trying to hide her trepidation as she stared at the feather that was quickly becoming the bane of her existence. She wanted to share in his joy, she truly did, but she didn't feel like she could celebrate until she'd done it perfectly. Her relationship with magic had always been a complicated one. Like any kid, she'd dreamed of it often when she was young, especially as she began to make stranger and stranger things happen, but in truth she'd explained most of it away to herself before her Hogwarts letter arrived and changed everything. After she decided not to go, she tried not to think of it at all - otherwise she was sure the regret would kill her, if given a chance. As she got older what was decidedly unhelpful was how it seemed to show itself in times when she was already in a not-so-stellar state - when she was particularly upset, or angry, or scared; which was more often than she liked to admit. Showing itself in those instances only seemed to make it act as a catalyst, setting her off worse.

It was like the feather, or perhaps the wand - hell, maybe her own magic itself, lying seemingly dormant inside her - could sense her nerves, like some kind of animal, and they kept it back. What could have been anywhere between ten and twenty more unsuccessful attempts went by before Sirius surprised her by sighing.

Turning her head, she lowered the wand and watched him in question, his sudden attitude a far cry from how it had been at the beginning. Leaning backwards a little, he regarded the whole spectacle with a rather bored expression.

"What is it?" She asked.

"I was just thinking…" he sighed and then shrugged, scratching at the stubble on his jaw "Maybe you're right about your lack of ability."

Heather stared at him, dumbfounded. Petty as it might have been, it was one thing for her to say it about herself, but quite another for him to do so. She resolutely choked down the hurt that flared in her chest at his words.

"I wouldn't dwell on it," he reassured her after seeing the look on her face "We can't all have your parents' aptitude for magic, after all - nor Harry's. Don't feel like you have to compete with him just because you're siblings-"

Every word he spoke stoked her ire further until she lifted the wand back up while he was still mid-sentence. She'd show him, the condescending bastard. She'd make the bloody feather hover all night if it would prove him wrong.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she said sternly, keeping the wand aimed at the feather and all the while her jaw was clenched in annoyance at being written off so quickly.

What did these people take her for? How did they think she'd gotten by all this time if she had no capabilities, or nothing but air between her ears?

The feather sprang into the air, and Heather stared it down, daring it to fall. It didn't. It paused in the air, and it stayed there. After sustaining it for what she deemed to be long enough, she slowly used the wand to gesture downward towards the table, and the feather followed. Sirius remained silent throughout the entirety of her display, but she'd been too busy concentrating to dare risk ruining her progress in order to make a clever comment. But when she turned to face him, a smug look on her face, she was stunned to see he matched her smugness in bucketloads. Then it dawned on her what he'd been playing at, and her jaw dropped.

"You son of a bitch," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I wouldn't compliment her with the word," he gave a crooked grin.

"How did you know that would work?" She demanded.

He'd taken a hell of a gamble, doing what he'd done. What if she still hadn't managed to do the spell afterwards? Would they be sitting in an awkward silence now? Well, it didn't matter.

"You needed somebody to prove wrong," he replied.

That small sentence unsettled Heather greatly. It wasn't that this was a trait she was unaware of in herself, but how did _he_ know? Either she was more transparent than she realised, or he was simply very good at reading people. Neither was a particularly welcome prospect.

"It's a trait we share," he admitted before raising his glass "To your first successful spell."

Heather nodded, allowing a real smile to stretch her lips before mirroring his action and taking a gulp of her drink. Unconventional teaching methods or no, she couldn't deny the results.

"James was the same, you know," he said.

Heather's glass fell from her lips. Sirius watched her carefully, looking very much like he was waiting for her to change the subject.

"Your mother, too, actually," he added when she made no such attempt.

"She was from a…" she struggled to find the right word "Normal family, right? Harry lives with her sister."

"She was a muggleborn, yes."

"And so was he?"

"James? No. He was pureblood. That's why you and Harry were more or less guaranteed to have magic - you're both half-bloods."

"...And that's why Voldemort wants to kill us?" She frowned.

Sirius made a face and shook his head.

"Not quite. His problem is with muggleborns and muggles, for the most part, purebloods being seen as the ideal."

"And your family agreed with him?"

"Some still do. I have a few cousins on his side," he replied grimly "They do like an excuse to feel superior."

Heather almost felt bad for asking about his family, but he was the one who had started on the topic - anyway, he didn't seem too bothered by it.

"That sounds familiar," she commiserated, Debbie's face springing to mind.

"Blood means nothing," he waved a hand "Both with family, and with magical ability. Hermione alone is a better witch than any blood purist's spawn could ever hope to be, from what I've seen."

"So why does he want to kill us?" She pressed, noting that he hadn't volunteered an answer to that question.

"That's...a long story."

"I think we have time."

"It's safer for you not to know - if only for now," he sighed "I like keeping the both of you in the dark no more than you like being in it, but it's how things have to be for the immediate future."

"So I can't even know why the masked lunatics are after me?" She struggled to keep the frustration from her voice.

"In your case it's simple. You're Harry's sister. That's why he wants you. The leverage he'd gain over all of us should he catch you is...well, we can't allow it to happen. His problem with Harry is...well, it's something else entirely. That's why he killed James and Lily - they were protecting him."

Heather lowered her eyes. Breathing in slowly, she stared into the fire for a few moments before she began to talk again.

"I _am_ sorry for your loss - for Harry's, all of it," she didn't look at him, for she knew if she did she wouldn't finish "Despite my issues with them, I didn't want them _dead_. Never that. When Dumbledore told me…"

She trailed off. She was rambling now - no need to make an idiot of herself. He'd get the point.

"Dumbledore was the one to tell you," it was more of a statement than a question.

"When I was eleven," she nodded "He came to visit me after I turned down Hogwarts."

"How did you take it?"

Part of her wanted to laugh. What kind of question was that? In truth, she'd cried like...well, like an eleven year old who'd just found out her parents were dead.

"Doesn't matter now," she shrugged.

But Sirius continued to wait for an answer, clearly losing patience with her constant question-dodging. Heaving a sigh, she frowned in thought, trying to think of how she might explain herself as quickly and painlessly as possible. After all, Sirius had saved her life, hidden her, fed her, given her a room, and now he was teaching her magic. He'd had as little say in all of this as she, and she wasn't fond of being quite so indebted to anybody.

"You have to understand, Debbie had already been pouring poison into my ear for a long time beforehand. Dad disapproved, always told me she was talking bullshit, but I just ended up confused. I was a kid - one who was hearing two very different things from two very different sources. I couldn't understand why she'd say such nasty things if they weren't true - figured dad just didn't want my feelings hurt, so he was the one who was lying. I didn't understand Debbie's particular brand of shitty at the time."

"What did she say about them?'

There was an edge to his voice now. What didn't help was that Heather could still hear Debbie's words now, whenever she thought of the whole topics. Insults being hurled at her from across the room - hell, being screamed directly into her face. Her grip tightened on her glass to disguise how her hands began to shake.

"A lot of things. It's doesn-"

"Yes it does," Sirius snapped back "It matters a great deal."

The unexpected flare of his temper, combined with the unpleasant memories rushing to the forefront of her mind, clashed badly with her already-frayed nerves and relative sobriety, making her flinch when his voice rose. She cringed immediately after, any small hope that he wouldn't notice flying out of the window when she saw the expression on his face.

Necking the last of her drink, Heather quickly stood.

"Heather-," he began.

"Well this was great, thank you for the lesson," her cheery tone sounded fake and her words too formal, even to her own ears "Goodnight, then."

She didn't quite catch what he called after her as she retreated to her bedroom, caught between the need to be quick and the need to be quiet. She wasn't sure was was louder - the pounding of her heart, or the ghost of Debbie's voice shrieking in her ear. If she could've groaned every creative curse she knew without waking the whole house, she would've. Only when her door was locked behind her, and she sat at the window with a cigarette in hand, did she relax.

How would she go to breakfast the next morning? She pressed her head against the window frame with a sigh. How would she face Sirius after she'd just behaved like a battered puppy? The last thing she needed to appear was even more weak than she already was.

"Motherfucker," she grumbled, shaking her head.

Debbie would love to see this too, the bitch. She'd be delighted at the sight of her shaking like a leaf at the memory of decades-old insults. Heather's jaw clenched. Something had to change.

* * *

Sirius sat with Remus at the breakfast table the next morning, having barely slept. The previous night had been good - up until the end. That part left him thoroughly confused. The way she'd flinched at his annoyance the night before hadn't been mere surprise. The look on her face had been steeped in pure dread, but he didn't frighten her so badly...did he? Merlin, he hoped not. But he didn't think so. On the contrary, he was sure he was finally getting her to open up. She seemed at least somewhat comfortable around him, at least.

"I don't understand it, Moony," he grumbled into his coffee "She's so damn changeable."

"It's been a hard few days, but she's more at ease with you than with any of us, I think," Remus offered in reassurance.

Sirius sighed. He couldn't recount the events of the previous night both out of secrecy, and also because he didn't want to take the trust she'd shown in him and blab it to the entire house.

"One moment she's making jokes, the next she can barely look anybody in the eye," he pointed out.

"She's...had a difficult past. That much is clear," Remus conceded "She probably just needs time to process it all."

His words made sense, but Sirius couldn't help but feel that there was something he just wasn't getting. But pushing the matter would do no good, so he let it drop. For now.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: A bit of a mammoth chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!**

It took four pills, as well as her lucky Motley Crue t-shirt, to get Heather to the kitchen for breakfast the next morning. She hadn't slept much, her brain instead choosing to suck all of the joy out of her having performed her first ever (intentional) spell by playing her an ever-looping mental reel of what a fool she'd just made of herself. This wasn't anything new - hell, at this point it was basically a hobby. After her first gig with the guys she'd terrorised herself with flashbacks of every wrong note, awkward movement, and wrong lyric, for weeks. Even now it took a concoction of pills, powders, and potions to get her on the stage each night. Luckily, or perhaps not, the pills worked better for her courage than alcohol ever did. If they had her laughing on stage, they could get her through a breakfast at Grimmauld Place. Hopefully.

Already feeling better as she descended the stairs, she gave herself a mental pep talk. It wasn't a huge deal - really, it wasn't. Her treacherous brain was just trying to convince her otherwise. If she acted like it had never happened, Sirius would likely follow suit. It was with the goal of downplaying everything in mind that had her breezing into the kitchen and taking up the empty space to Sirius' left, opposite from Remus.

"Good morning," she greeted with a smile, accepting a large cup of coffee that floated her way from Mrs Weasley's direction.

If her aim had been to catch Sirius off-guard, she would have succeeded beautifully. Blinking at her in surprise before giving her a nod and a bemused smile, he left the talking to Remus, instead regarding her with something too close to suspicion for her liking.

"Good morning, Heather, I see you're an early riser," Remus greeted.

"Definitely not," she snorted, doing her best to blink the fatigued burn out of her eyes "Two PM used to be an early start for me - but I didn't think that would be appreciated around here."

"And deprive us of your sunny presence for half the day?" Fred feigned horror remarkably well down the table.

"We'd never allow it," George added "In fact, we might even be tempted to wake you up in all manners of unpleasant ways."

Giving them a rueful look, and spurred on by a sense of familiarity and confidence bolstered by her drug-induced haze, Heather pretended to scratch the side of her nose with her middle finger in lieu of flipping them off. It was met with laughter and nods of approval - the laughter only growing louder when she quickly stopping the moment Mrs Weasley turned in her direction.

Although she was well used to playing dumb and ignoring what was going on around her, Heather was far from unobservant, and was well aware of the exchange that this caused between Remus and Sirius when her head was turned towards the twins. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Remus turned towards Sirius, eyebrows raised as though to prove a point. She couldn't see Sirius well enough to witness his response, but she heard him give a quiet, somewhat defeated, sigh.

Harry, at least, was happier to see her.

"How was your night?" He leaned across Hermione to ask her, earning the full attention of the table "I mean, er, you were talking about learning a new song."

She was glad she caught on to what he meant more or less straight away.

"It went well," she didn't have to force this smile "I learned it."

"Really?" His excitement both matched and fuelled her own "That's brilliant! The full thing? On your first go?"

"Well," she made a face "Not quite my first go, it took some work…"

"She got it more or less straight away," Sirius interrupted, waving a hand.

"You heard it?" Remus frowned a little.

If anybody at the table was going to catch onto their double-speak, it would be him, Heather suspected. So she jumped in.

"I needed a second opinion - Sirius listens to a lot of the same music as me, figured he could help," she shrugged.

"What song were you learning?" he asked, eyes flickering between the two of them.

Well, shit. If she answered, she'd have to hope that the song she named would indeed be one that Sirius knew. If he answered, he'd have to guess one that she knew how to play off of the top of her head. Personally, Heather fancied her chances with the former path over the latter.

"Pink Floyd," she said quickly "Wish-"

"-You Were Here," Sirius finished the name of the song with her, giving his friend a smile that looked a little too triumphant to be innocent "Hell of a song. She sings it well."

"We've all heard to much of this band of yours," Molly took a seat beside Remus, a welcome distraction from his suspicion "You like them, then, dear?"

"Who, my band?" she blinked "I...don't think we're really together anymore."

Amidst all of the hurt and strife that went with the discovery of Scott's true identity, she'd never actually taken a moment to allow what that would mean for the band as a whole to sink in. Sure, she'd thought about the financial side of things - there was nothing like abject poverty to keep money on the mind - but less so about the creative side of things. Maybe that was deliberate - she already had enough on her mind. Not one known for her habit of forgiving and forgetting, Heather would certainly never set foot on stage with Scott again. She'd barely been tolerating Darren to begin with, this was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Maybe that was why she felt a strange sort of relief at this specific turn of events. Despite never admitting it out loud, it was painfully obvious that this band wouldn't be the one to help her make it big - if any ever would. In her more hazy states over the last few days, she even wondered if this forced confinement couldn't be good for her music - like in the movies about writers isolating themselves in some cabin in the middle of nowhere to pen their next great best-seller...the fact that those movies usually featured said writers going mad not-withstanding.

"No, _bands_ \- do you like bands?" Molly's clarification pulled her from her thoughts.

"Uh…" she blinked "Some of them, I suppose?"

"And those women on your clothes," she nodded at the Motley Crue t-shirt "They're a muggle band, I take it?"

Heather looked down at the very blond, very made-up Vince Neil, pouting at the occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place from the centre of her chest. She couldn't fault the assumption. She also couldn't hold back a snort of laughter, either, although she did feel bad for it - Molly was making an effort with her, after all. But if the looks her children were exchanging meant anything, there was something Heather wasn't being let in on.

"Yeah, they are," she nodded instead of going down the route of explaining the intricacies of glam rock to the entire breakfast table.

"What about...Oh what's their name, Arthur? The Odd Sisters? The ones Bill likes so much."

"The Weird Sisters, mum," Ron groaned " _Weird,_ not Odd."

"The Weird Sisters," she amended, turning her attention back to Heather "Do you like them?"

"I don't think we have them in our world," she gave an apologetic, if not baffled, smile.

"Not to worry," she waved off "Perhaps Bill could show you them when he's next here! It should be tonight, for the meeting...I'm sure there'll be time after. I do think you'd get along so well. You dress rather similarly, you know - although at this rate his hair will soon be longer than yours."

At this she had no idea what to say, and she couldn't quite decide if she was just being paranoid or if Molly was genuinely trying to push her in the direction of her eldest son.

"If he introduces anybody to the Weird Sisters, it'll be Fleur," Ron muttered at his plate.

" _Oooh Beel, vot eez zis moozic_?" George shot back in a French accent.

" _Ver are zee violeens? Zee 'arps? I 'ave never 'eard ov zees...gee-tar,_ " Fred added with an exaggerated wrinkle of his nose " _At Beauxbatons ve 'ave gentle choruses of pixie farts or noff-eeng at all!"_

Completely lost by the turn of events, and why the teenagers all seemed to find this so funny, Heather turned to Sirius for some kind of explanation, to which he made the universal hand-signal for "later". Whatever she'd missed, the mention of this "Fleur" seemed to ruffle Molly enough to make her abandon the road she'd been going down (thankfully). She'd probably rather discuss her birth parents than her love life, or anything linked to it.

"Well you must play a song for us all one night," Molly said kindly "Sirius can't keep you all to himself."

At this Heather forced a smile that felt awkward even to herself. It wasn't just that she didn't feel like this was the best audience for lyrics like " _you might as well do the white line_ ", but the pointedness in Molly's tone at her last comment. It didn't take the deductive powers of Sherlock Holmes to notice the strained relationship between her and Sirius, but thus far it only seemed to extend to the one thing they had in common - Harry. Heather wasn't sure she wanted to be added to that list. As well meaning as she knew Mrs Weasley was, she had no desire to be mothered (she'd gotten by this long without a shred of maternal affection), nor to be dragged into some kind of Wizarding pissing contest. But nor did she want to offend anybody, so she gave an awkward smile, made a non-committal noise, and left it at that.

* * *

After breakfast, Heather was pulled up the stairs to recount the events of her magic lessons - information which she exchanged for answers on who exactly Bill and Fleur were, and why Mrs Weasley was so keen to throw her into the mix. As she told the story she carefully left out Sirius' provocations, saying only that he had greatly helped. After all, taking all of the credit was something she had little interest in - she just didn't feel like exposing the inner workings of her mind for the whole group to see. It was bad enough that Sirius seemed to have her sussed so easily.

The story she was told in return of her brother's fellow competitor in the Triwizard tournament, and Ron's eldest brother's infatuation with her (which was only matched by Mrs Weasley's distaste). Heather couldn't help but laugh along with the others after that. The girl must really be something if Molly would rather push _her_ at Bill. Of course, she had been kind to her - exceedingly kind - but Heather strongly doubted she was what any woman would see as daughter-in-law material. She suspected if she wasn't related to Harry, the idea would've never crossed her mind. _That_ , however, was a relief - the way she nurtured and cared for the boy like she was one of her own sons. It eased Heather's guilt a little to know that people had been looking after her brother as best they could while she partied and gigged any trace of coherency away.

Her brother, for his part, seemed cheerier than the previous night; although that wasn't a difficult feat. The news of her success put a smile on his face, and even Hermione seemed pleased enough by it...although she was sure she still heard the girl murmur something about laws and regulations under her breath. In truth, their happiness made her feel all the more triumphant. She'd thought perhaps Sirius had been patronising her, being so happy at her management of a spell that was, for all intents and purposes, fairly unimpressive. As far as spells went, anyway.

"Do you know what one you'll be trying next?" Harry pressed.

"Locking and unlocking, I think. That's what's next in the book, anyway, we didn't really discuss it," she did her best not to shift uncomfortably as the way her lesson ended sprang back into her mind.

"Colloportus and Alohomora," Hermione nodded in approval "If you managed the levitation spell this one shouldn't be too difficult - confidence is usually half of the battle."

"And what good is Alohomora _in_ battle? Is Heather going to lock herself away in a room and hope Voldemort doesn't find her?" Harry asked, although his irritation had none of its previous bite to it.

"Isn't that more or less what I'm doing here?" Heather gestured around her with a snort.

"You're meant to be doing this in case this place fails," Harry replied "I don't see the point in wasting time on charms when charms aren't going to save your life in a duel."

Frowning as he spoke, he looked away when he'd finished, his frustration plain as day on his features. Heather watched him, feeling a little lost as to what she could say that might be any kind of help. What could she say? "It won't come to that"? For all she knew it might; she couldn't prove otherwise and she wouldn't insult his intelligence or patronise him by trying to insist something she didn't even believe herself. She couldn't even bring herself to be frustrated by her new brother's short fuse - it'd be a little hypocritical, considering it was a trait they shared - because the sternest frown in the world couldn't mask the frustration and worry that filled his eyes, even if he thought looking away would hide it. He was worrying because he cared, and it was touching.

His friends, it seemed, we well used to his frustration too, sharing sympathetic looks before turning their attention to him, equally lost for words. It was Ron who made the first attempt to placate him.

"They need to work their way up, mate," he pointed out "Sirius was hardly going to start off with the cruciatus curse, was he?"

The way Hermione's lips pursed suggested the young witch wouldn't have been surprised if he had. Heather made a mental note to ask about it later.

"Well what about expelliarmus? I'm not expecting miracles, just something useful," the ire left his voice, at least, but it might've been preferable over how weary he sounded as he turned to her directly "I mean what else are you going to do? Levitate Voldemort to death?"

At the last part, his voice held just the barest hint of teasing, and there was a slight glimmer in his eye that Heather recognised as something she occasionally saw in her own reflection, or in photographs of herself.

"Is that a challenge?" She teased.

He gave a begrudging laugh at that, shaking his head.

"Tell you what," she began, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees "Write a list of all of the spells you think I should know, and I'll show Sirius. You never know, you might think of some he hadn't considered."

Although not fully cheered by her suggestion, he seemed to perk up a bit, and for that she was glad. Sure, it wasn't a life-changing task for him, but she guessed that he just needed _something_ to do regarding her situation more than anything. Although she dreaded to think what sort of advanced spells he might include on the list. If there was one thing that was clear, it was that her brother was an ambitious one. It made her more proud than she'd admit.

"The more conspicuous spells will have to wait until we're all gone anyway," Hermione pointed out "We can risk the whole house running to see what's going on should they hear anything."

They all nodded in agreement - Harry finally looking truly satisfied as he heaved a great sigh and seemed to visibly will himself to cheer up. In truth, Heather's heart went out to him. His mood had brightened considerably since the trial, but it didn't change the fact that the boy had the world on his shoulders. She'd be equally snippish, if not more-so, were she in his boots. The thought of him going back to this school where something devastating seemed to happen every year would have had her nervous even if they weren't related, but the fact that they _were_ had all sorts of older sister instincts she didn't even know she had kicking in.

"So, what was with the French accents at breakfast?" She asked.

The topic of magic was mercifully abandoned then, with the trio filling Heather in on the matter of Fleur Delacour, Bill Weasley, and his mother's distaste for the fast-blossoming romance.

"She'll be hoping he likes you more," Ron said, with no small amount of embarrassment "Once she gets an idea in her head there isn't a memory charm strong enough to get it out, I swear."

"I didn't think your mother liked me _that_ much," Heather snorted.

"She likes you more than Fleur, and that's enough for now," Harry added with distaste similar to Ron's - although she had a feeling his was more directed towards the idea of her dating the eldest Weasley sibling, rather than towards Mrs Weasley herself.

"Plus it'd make Harry family, officially," Hermione pointed out.

"Are we talking about mum's mad plot against Phlegm?" Ginny appeared in the doorway, eyeing them with interest.

Following breakfast, Ron had not-so-subtly ordered his little sister to go and see what the twins were up to, in order to give the four of them a chance to discuss Heather's lesson. It was an order the girl had followed with no small amount of irritation, and only after neither Harry nor Hermione stuck up for her against her brother. But her patience seemed to have reached its limit, and Heather hoped that she would assume Bill was the matter they'd wanted to discuss.

"Here, Ginny, have my seat, I'm going for a lie down anyway," Heather stood, surrendering her spot on one of the beds for her "I'm afraid Mrs Weasley is out of luck, by the way - I don't date."

Harry looked placated at that - it seemed he was settling into his role as brother as quickly as she was into her role of sister.

"And Bill isn't aware that any women other than Phlegm exist," Ginny rolled her eyes "It won't make a difference tonight, though - mum'll do anything she can to push the two of you together. If I had a galleon, I'd put it on you two mysteriously ending up sitting together at dinner after the meeting."

Heather held back a groan, lest she risk offending either of Bill's siblings, and instead settled for a joke of "Brilliant, looks like we'll have a September wedding, then. I'll be the only bride to ever wear black."

This was met with a chuckle or two and with that she left them to their talk of Hogwarts and the year to come, figuring they'd enjoy their conversation more if they didn't have to stop to explain their references to her every few minutes. But as she closed the door softly behind her, she was met with the sound of voices that were conspicuous in the way that only people making a conscious effort _not_ to be heard could be, coming from the landing down the stairs.

"Sirius, she was fine," Remus was speaking softly.

From his voice, she guessed he was somewhere near the doorway to the living room.

Heather stopped stock-still, not wanting to risk moving even an inch, lest the creaky floorboards give away her position.

"She was just there, yes, but you have to listen to me, Moony, there are times when she's just...different," Sirius' voice came, tone insistent.

"Then why hasn't Molly noticed? Or any of the Weasleys, for that matter? Or Harry?"

"I don't _know_! For all we know they have. But I've been thinking, maybe it's…" Sirius trailed off.

"Maybe it's what?"

Enough time passed for Heather to worry she'd been rumbled before Sirius finally replied.

"Maybe it's me."

"That's what I've been saying. You're reading into all of this too deeply."

"No, not like that. Do you think she could be scared of me?"

" _Scared_ of you?" Remus echoed "Of course not. You're-"

"I'm Sirius Black, infamous mass murderer," Sirius' tone darkened, only slightly hidden by the sarcasm lacing it "Yes, she knows the truth now, but we don't know what the Muggle world has been saying. Perhaps the truth is more of an adjustment than we realised."

"Sirius, _listen_ to yourself. 'Maybe', 'if', 'perhaps' - is it not more likely that here we have a young woman doing her best to adjust to an impossible situation, and what you're seeing is the strain?"

There was a beat of silence, and Heather silently prayed for Sirius to accept his friend's words. It had been optimistic at best, and dumb at worst, for her to think none of them would notice any difference between her sober self and her not-so-sober self. Sure, Darren never had, but Darren was an idiot who didn't notice much beyond his own nose. The people here weren't the same types she was used to hanging around with, though - if they were, the Wizarding world would be screwed already. Scott had always been the only one able to tell if she was sober or not at the drop of a hat, but that should have shown her that her new housemates would likely be able to tell, too. She would only be able to rely on the excuse of adjusting for so long before she'd have to work harder to cover her ass. Did they have some sort of spell that could test her sobriety, if it came to it? God, she hoped not. She didn't even know if their world _had_ drugs. It wasn't the sort of thing she could enquire about without raising an eyebrow or two, after all.

Scott's knowledge was also an issue in itself. If he knew, did that mean Dumbledore did too? Was she soon to be dragged into an Order meeting and be made to stand up and announce "Hello, my name is Heather and I'm an addict"? Would they reenact _Trainspotting_ , locking her in Regulus' bedroom until she'd gone through and shaken off the withdrawals? As outlandish as the scenarios were, the idea of them still had a sick feeling welling up inside her. _Come on, Sirius_ , she thought to herself, _just listen to Remus._

"It's not that," he disagreed after a moment of thoughtful silence.

If Heather could've cursed out loud then and there, she would have.

"There's just something that's not quite right," he insisted, "A piece of the puzzle that I'm missing. It's just not all adding up."

"If you're that sure, I won't argue with you," Remus sighed "Although I'm sure it's not all that nefariou-"

It was then that the kitchen door opened with a creak, and she heard Mr Weasley greet the two. Heather used the distraction as an opportunity to slip into the room she was staying in. She needed time to think, and to plan.

* * *

All in all, it took her perhaps less than an hour to come up with a game-plan. After all, it was fairly obvious that she'd have to do or say _something_. Her attempts at acting naturally clearly weren't working, and if Sirius was already suspicious after a few days, she knew it was only a matter of time before he grew fed up and confronted her about her odd behaviour. So when she heard him making his way to the top floor to feed Buckbeak - the hippogriff she'd yet to meet - she left her room and waited at the bottom of the staircase, drumming her fingertips against the banister as she waited. This soon turned to pacing as she mentally rehearsed what she might tell him, and how she might say it, what details to include and what to omit, although her pacing and pondering didn't keep her so busy as to stop her noticing the look of surprise on his face when he found her waiting for him.

"Can I borrow you?" she asked with a smile that felt forced even to her own lips.

They ducked into "her" bedroom, and as she settled on the edge of the bed she distracted herself from the silence, fast-threatening to become awkward, by debating on how to best approach her point without giving away the fact that she'd overheard him speaking to Remus.

In the end she settled for "I think I owe you an explanation."

"An explanation?" he seemed surprised enough, but not suspicious.

Having spent some time mulling over just how much she might tell the others if pressed - and who she should tell, if it came down to it. On all grounds, Sirius was the natural candidate. Not only because the amount of time they were destined to spend together would make it nigh impossible to keep up a consistent bright and sunny act on her part, but also because he was her mentor in this world...and there was no denying they got on well. At first she'd assumed they'd established a good rapport before she knew who he was because that was his goal in talking to her in the first place. Part of her feared he'd simply been manipulating her in order to soften the blow of the Wizarding world crashing down on her before when it inevitably did. But the more she got to know him, the more she realised that wasn't Sirius. If there was anybody she might have to open up to, if only a little, she supposed she wasn't entirely devastated that it was him.

"I didn't mean to freak out last night," she said with a heavy sigh, her eyes dropping to the bedspread beneath her fingertips as she traced idle patterns onto it.

"I should be apologising," he shook his head, his tone turning forcibly light "Living in a house with the infamous Sirius Black must be an adjustment."

She looked at him then, surprise on her face. He thought she was _scared_ of him?

"It's not that," she gave a true laugh now, shaking her head "That's...the least strange thing about this whole thing."

Kreacher might've been the strangest. Thankfully, Sirius seemed to take her at her word, stance losing a great deal of its former tension as his shoulders relaxed a little. Glad that she seemed to have cleared up the misunderstanding, if only a little, Heather was still unsure as to how to proceed. She was under no illusion that she was the ideal candidate that the others might've had in mind upon finding out that The Boy Who Lived had a sister. How was she to break the news to them that the newest figure in this war of theirs had issues with panic attacks on a good day, nevermind when embroiled in a war? It wasn't so much that she hated disappointing people, as that she hated being seen as weak. The disappointment part would probably just be an added bonus.

"I don't even know where to start," she sighed, shifting uncomfortably.

"The beginning is usually a good place for that," he shrugged.

With a great sigh, Heather shuffled back on the bed so that her back was against the headboard, and gestured for Sirius to sit with her. This would likely end up being a long story, and having him standing before her expectantly already had her nervous. In her experience, telling people about this stuff could go a number of ways and very few of them were good. She didn't want to be babied, or pitied, but she also certainly didn't want to be brushed off and told she was overreacting. Taking a seat, he waited.

"When I was...Well, I don't know how old I was. Before my Hogwarts letter - so ten at the oldest," she began, and couldn't help but smirk at the blink of surprise she got "You told me to start at the beginning, right? Anyway, when I was a kid I started getting these...weird moods, I guess you could call them. I'd always had some quirks - I couldn't cope with being late to school, if I thought I was going to be late I'd panic so much I'd get goddamn heart palpitations, dumb stuff like that. I was just so unbelievably nervous _all_ of the time, like every day was an exam day and I hadn't studied at all. It was constant."

She glanced briefly at Sirius to make sure he was listening, before looking away again and continuing.

"It got to a point where the only time I got any kind of break from it was when...well, when the opposite started happening. Some days it was like a switch flipped in my brain," she gestured vaguely to her head "And all of the joy would be sucked out of everything. I couldn't eat, I couldn't care about anything, _enjoy_ anything. Most of the time I'd sleep it off, just because it was better than being awake. It was like...Like…"

"Like you'd never be happy again."

Their eyes met, and for a moment Heather was stunned into silence. But then she felt supremely silly. She'd heard the story, however summarised, of Sirius' time in prison and his subsequent life on the run. Due to the events of the last month or so, she'd also heard a _lot_ of talk about these Dementors and the effects they had on people. It should have come as absolutely no surprise that Sirius understood what she was talking about. However, this bolstered her courage. If he understood, even if on a slightly different level, the chances of him saying the dreaded words "why don't you just cheer up?" were significantly lessened.

"Exactly," she nodded.

"Muggles have apothecaries, though - or something like it, at least. I forget the word," he waved a hand "Why didn't they take you to one?"

One side of Heather's lips twisted into a humourless smirk.

"Dad wanted to, but Debbie crapped her pants at the idea. She got it in her head that if words like _anxiety_ and _depression_ started being thrown around, people would think she was a bad mother."

That was probably why she still tried to avoid the terms as much as possible. She'd long grown used to referring to it in all manner of codes - mostly with Scott, up until the truth came out - rather than "depressed" she was "fed up" or "having a tough day (or month)", and so on.

"And her refusing to help the girl in her care wouldn't make them think that?" he asked drily.

The fact that he'd actively avoided the word "daughter" was not lost on her, but she didn't mind in this instance. Debbie was no kin to her.

"Not if I hid it well enough," she countered "So I kept my mouth shut, coped as best I could, and pretended not to hear her rants about…"

"About what?"

Biting back the response of "it doesn't matter" (because that had ended _so_ well last time), she was struck with the strong urge to go on as if she'd never started down that path, but then stopped and sighed.

"About how those _damned teenagers_ had saddled her with a defective baby," she brought her legs underneath her, her eyes back on the bedspread "Her theory at the time was that _that's_ why they wanted rid of me. Somehow they knew what was wrong with me and palmed me off on the first unsuspecting dolts they came across."

Silence fell, then. When she next looked at Sirius, his jaw was clenched almost as tightly as his fist, his knuckles fast turning white, staring ahead in a manner that told her he was trying desperately to find some remaining shred of zen. Something in her face seemed to help him do so, though, and instead he gave a sad attempt at a laugh, shaking his head.

"She sounds like quite the conspiracy theorist."

"You should've heard her once she had a drink in her; a merry drunk she was not," Heather shrugged "Anyway, believe it or not, my Hogwarts letter didn't help anything in that regard. But that's not what I wanted to talk about. My whole point is, I still have these...quirks. It changes day-to-day, I never know how it's gonna hit or when, _especially_ not now, but there are times when something minor happens and I just blow it completely out of proportion - my mind goes to the worst case scenario, I get shaky, I can't breathe, it's just blind panic. I damn near passed out the first time I had to get up on a stage," she snorted "Then sometimes it's the opposite. I wake up and everything is just...grey and there's no joy left in me. With that I can usually see it coming - sometimes I can even fight it."

She didn't often win that fight, but she didn't feel like saying that out loud. As she spoke, Sirius' face had gone from stern at the talk of Debbie to unusually somber (for him, anyway), his lips set in a line as he looked at her like she'd just told him the saddest story ever. Seriousness had never been her forte - especially not when discussing herself - so she charged on, desperate to get this over with.

"I just thought you should, y'know, know about it. When I don't tell people, they tend to take stuff personally - I'll feel low one day for no reason and they'll think I'm pissed at them, or something'll make me panic and they'll think I'm being a major drama queen because they don't get that I can't control it - trust me, if I could I would, it's not exactly fun," she could feel herself rambling now "But I figured this isn't exactly the time or place to just throw on a smile and hope nobody realised something was up - but please don't tell anybody else, I don't need to be babied or looked after or...whatever, if they ask I'll explain myself but otherwise I don't want it to change how anybody sees me, and if you don't stop looking so sad I'm going to end up saying something really mean just to make you angry instead."

This, at least, earned her a laugh - a real one. He shook his head as though surprised by her very existence, but she didn't mind as long as he wasn't frowning at her like that anymore.

"Forgive me," he said, his tone teasing "I didn't mean to offend you by caring."

"I don't do well with pity," she said, her tone more defensive than she intended.

"Pity and sympathy are two very different things," he countered gently, the small amount of teasing in his tone that remained seemed to be more of a courtesy to her discomfort.

Heather wanted to argue with this but she didn't have the heart. Plus, she wasn't entirely sure he was wrong.

"Well," she coughed, sitting up "Now you know my dirty little secret - I'm more or less in a constant state of internal terror."

Sirius gave her one of his lopsided grins that she couldn't help but return "Welcome to the club."

"Can I ask you something?" She asked before she lost the nerve "About James and Lily?"

"Of course."

"Did either of them have...issues like this? They say it can be hereditary, right?"

It was the first time over the course of their conversation that she'd seen him hesitate, which told her he suspected that she might not like his answer.

"No," he admitted "Neither of them, I'm afraid."

The way he said it told her what he was thinking - if she was looking for any kind of rhyme or reason behind that particular twist of fate, she wouldn't find it in the grave of her biological parents. She wasn't even sure whether this revelation pleased her or not. It certainly would've made it easier to lay blame at their feet - to allow herself to grow bitter toward them both for giving her up and for dealing her with a shitty genetic card. But it would also fix nothing, even if that were the case, and doing things simply because they were easy had never been her thing. No, it seemed that if any parent was responsible for her condition, it would've probably been Debbie - if the word "parent" was to be used loosely. In this instance nurture won the day over nature.

"Well, now I know," she tried to say it lightly, her hand returning to tracing listless patterns on the bedspread.

The seriousness of the situation, and her complete lack of ability to deal with any kind of serious or borderline-emotional conversation regarding herself was beginning to take its toll, manifesting in a feeling of overwhelming discomfort in her own skin. But she was jolted from the beginning of any kind of inner turmoil when Sirius reached out and grasped her hand. It was a platonic gesture, probably intended to be comforting or reassuring, or perhaps even an expression of gratitude for trusting him enough to give him a glimpse into her dysfunctional little mind. It hardly took a genius to see it hadn't been easy for her, and his response just added yet another layer to the great respect she was gaining for him.

However, as their hands touched, sparks seemed to erupt beneath her skin, starting at her fingertips and travelling up her hand, sending mini shockwaves up her arm. Blinking in surprise at him, she resisted the urge to glance at their entwined hands, lest she give too much away, but inside she was trying furiously to remember if she'd had a similar reaction back in the club that night, when he'd been hauling her to safety. But she couldn't remember - her mind had been more focused on the murderous lunatics pursuing them to think of the handsome man holding her hand. And of course, there was never any denying that Sirius was handsome, with his striking grey eyes, aristocratic features and a "bad boy" aura that seemed to envelope his every action, and she knew he knew it well himself. That was what she chalked her reaction up to. She'd been telling the truth when she told the teens she didn't date - not anymore - but it wasn't like her nervous system knew that. The reaction was probably just a natural one - pure biology.

It was sheer willpower alone that kept trained her face into an unfazed expression, and kept her eyes on his.

"Thank you for telling me," he said sincerely, squeezing her hand "I mean it. I understand that you didn't do so lightly."

She mustered a genuine, if small, smile in return "Just...Don't tell anybody. They might find out at some point, but not yet."

The aftermath of the news spreading through the house wasn't something she wanted to consider. Mrs Weasley seemed worried enough as it was, she didn't want her forbidding the twins from teasing her (especially since it seemed to be the best indication that she was actually being accepted here), or wrapping her in cotton wool and stuffing her in the attic.

"You have my word," he said seriously.

It was then that she squeezed his hand back, and was just about to let go when the door swung open.

"Heather, mum wants to know if-" Fred (or was it George?) began as he sauntered in as if summoned by her thoughts, but stopped short when the sight of herself and Sirius registered properly.

She let go quickly, moving her hands to her lap, but immediately regretted it, knowing it probably looked guilty as sin. Sirius, however, seemed unbothered, although he sat a little straighter. It also did not escape her notice when he flexed his fingers, running his thumb over his fingertips as he did so, as if chasing the ghost of a sensation. Had he felt it too?

"I'd best go change," Sirius gestured breezily to the aftermath of Buckbeak's lunch on his clothing before he stood, leaving with a "We'll talk about this again later, Heather."

Heather simply nodded, wishing her posture had an ounce of the ease that his did, knowing her embarrassment was likely fuelling any suspicion the twin may have had.

"Well," he leaned on the door frame after Sirius' departure "Bill will be disappointed."

Knowing any kind of bluster would just make things look more suspicious - and wondering just _why_ she felt so damn caught when nothing at all had even happened - Heather gave a laugh as she stood, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans before speaking in a deadpan "They'll call me the Jezebel of Grimmauld Place, no man is safe."

"Not even Ron? That'll delight him," she was fairly certain the twin she was talking to was George now, although she feared it would be rude to ask, but she took his joking as a sign of writing off what he'd just seen.

Or she hoped so, anyway.

"I don't think I'll resort to cradle-snatching any time soon," she said.

"No, no, evidently you prefer an older man," he responded with a shit-eating grin.

Rolling her eyes good naturedly, she decided all she could do now was take it on the chin. In any case, she had a feeling that getting flustered would only worsen the teasing.

* * *

Loathe as she was to admit it, clearing the air with Sirius had lifted a great weight off of her shoulders. But it didn't mean she was about to make a habit of opening up to people, not if she could help it. Her relief was clouded only a little by the guilt she felt over the great deals of lying by omission she'd just done. She'd told him that her changeable moods were due to her issues, and they were...in part. The small detail of the various stashes hidden throughout her luggage would remain private. Not secret, just private (she kidded herself for the hundredth time). But who did it hurt? Sirius had his answers, she'd gotten a few things off her chest, and nobody would be throwing around crazy words like "addict" or mad ideas like "cold-turkey" anytime soon. After all, it wasn't like she wasn't going to stop. She hardly had any choice in the matter now, so she figured she might as well have what little fun remained.

It also came as a great relief that it didn't change the way he behaved around her at all. It turned out that Mrs Weasley had sent George up to fetch her because she wanted help with lunch. What help she could provide, magicless as she was (for now), she wasn't sure, but she took it as a gesture to try to include her, and she was grateful for it. She'd joined them at the tail end of their mission to make Grimmauld Place liveable, and felt thoroughly useless trying to keep herself occupied while they dealt with magical creatures she'd never even heard of as though they were as inconsequential as ants or spiders. With the air cleared with Sirius, and her finding of a tentative routine in the house, her mood was beginning to brighten - so long as she kept it away from the matter of Voldemort, and whatever she might be missing outside of the house.

She spent much of her early afternoon stood by the sink, dutifully peeling potatoes with Ginny and Harry, secretly grateful for the fact that not everybody in the house had magic at their disposal just yet. The meagre amount of light that managed to permeate the house had turned orange and was quickly growing dimmer and dimmer by the time all of the food was prepared and left under the supervision of Molly's magical utensils, wooden spoons stirring pots of their own accord. As Heather moved to the kitchen table to join in with the conversation, she found her eyes drifting back to them every now and then, a small part of her mind still expecting to see wires holding them in mid-air.

When the sun did set, it wasn't long before the knocks began at the door. Nobody moved just yet - according to Harry they wouldn't be asked to vacate the kitchen until all of the Order had arrived - so Heather stayed where she was and greeted Tonks with a small, if not slightly shy, wave when she entered. A man named Kingsley Shacklebolt was next, who greeted her politely and did his best to disguise the way his eyes kept flickering between herself and Harry with something akin to wonder on his face.

It was a reaction she was beginning to grow used to, and even see as a good thing. It was a testament to how much they seemed to care about Harry, to be so pleased at seeing that he wasn't completely without family after all. Any pleasure left her, however, at the sight of who walked in after Kingsley. Scott had changed little in the whopping few days it had been since she'd seen him - he even remained in his muggle clothes, failing to swap them out for wizarding robes as she'd half expected now that the charade was over. The moment he looked to Heather she looked away, her lips thin.

"Everybody, this is Scott Diggins, our newest member," Remus introduced him to the kitchen, prompted by the confused looks exchanged by those not in the know.

She stayed silent as the room greeted him. Harry, who she'd filled in on the situation, looked to her at the exact moment Sirius did, although far less subtly than his godfather. He'd been on the fence about her little predicament with Scott, right up until she'd asked him "How would you feel if you found out tomorrow that Ron was only your friend because Dumbledore told him so?". She was all too aware of the empty space beside her as she watched her former best friend approach from the corner of her eye, but that was when her brother spoke up.

"Heather, isn't it time for my guitar lesson?" He asked, a look of pure innocence on his face.

The grin Heather gave threatened to split her face, and she decided she rather liked having a brother. Sirius seemed to share her amusement, laughing softly into his mug of tea.

"You're learning guitar?" Ron eyed him in slight disbelief as they stood.

"And I'm learning Quidditch - once I'm allowed to go outdoors," Heather improvised with a shrug "We made a deal, right, Harry?"

"Right," he nodded.

"It's best you all go now, anyway," Mrs Weasley decided "Go on, go on, I'll give a shout when it's time for dinner."

Most of the teenagers were out of the room before she was, and the Weasley matriarch grasped the crook of her arm gently before she slipped from the room, asking kindly "Heather, dear, you will make sure there's no eavesdropping for me, won't you?"

They both knew well enough that if Fred and George decided they wanted to listen in, there wasn't much she'd be able to do to stop them. The gesture was an attempt to lessen the sting of the fact that she'd more or less been relegated to the kiddie table while the adults talked, but Heather appreciated it all the same, responding with a smile and a nod, dutifully pretending she didn't feel Scott's eyes burning into the side of her face as Remus drew him into conversation, before she slipped from the kitchen.

Lagging a little behind the others as they shuffled reluctantly up the stairs, she was too concerned with looking back over her shoulder to ensure that Scott wasn't following her, and it was this that made it almost inevitable that Heather would walk right into somebody - and it was definitely her luck that the person she walked into had to be the most formidable person she'd seen in Grimmauld Place so far. Quite possibly the only person she'd ever met who was paler than herself, the man she'd run into sneered at her, only to stop and fall expressionless when he took her in.

"Oof- shit, I'm sorry," she gave what she hoped was an endearing smile, taking a few large steps backwards "I'm so stupid, I should've watched where I was going."

"Yes," he scowled, finally looking away "You should have."

Heather stared at him, eyes wide. She'd grown so used to the people here being exceedingly friendly and pleasant that a reaction like this, which would be more at home on the London underground, rendered her speechless. Her mouth opened, but her brain was caught between the knee-jerk urge to spit out a "well fuck you, too" and all-consuming abject mortification. Why couldn't she have just looked where she was bloody going?

Of course, being torn between the two reactions left her gaping at the man like an idiot, and when he looked at her again there was none of the strangeness of his former expression, only annoyance.

"Well? Are you going to get out of the way, or am I to spend my life being hounded by Potters?"

The way he spat out the word told her everything she needed to know about why he seemed to dislike her so much, although she didn't understand it. How did he even know who she was? She didn't look _that_ much like Harry, did she? His nastiness furthered her resolve to snap back, but before she had a chance to do so a voice barked somewhere behind her.

"Snivellus," Sirius voice came "I know you won't be too familiar, but this is what we like to refer to as a _woman_ , and we don't talk to them like that."

He spoke slowly, as if trying to explain algebra to a toddler. If it was possible, the man's face darkened even further and he marched past her without a second glance. Heather spun as he did, turning to face Sirius as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen, eyeing the newcomer with the coldest look she'd seen on his face thus far. He didn't take his eyes from him until he'd moved past him, refusing to budge from the doorway to make it easier for him, but the man marched past unfazed, knocking Sirius with his shoulder as he did so. It was only once he was out of sight and in the kitchen that Sirius stopped glaring, gave her a cheeky wink, and closed the kitchen door over, leaving it ajar only so they'd be able to hear when the last few members arrived.

Heather lingered in the hallway for another moment, before looking up to see all of the teenagers standing up on the landing, having fully witnessed the entire display. Well. Great.

 **A/N: I'm aware that I keep jumping between referring to Mrs Weasley as that and as Molly, I can't quite settle on what I think Heather would refer to her as - but I don't think Heather would be sure either, so that is my excuse. Maybe one day Mrs Weasley will help her clear that one up :')**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: The song featured is Some Might Say by Oasis, which is also where the title of this story comes from - the particular version I was inspired by was the solo acoustic version from Tokyo in 1994, which is on YouTube for anybody who might be interested! This is the last chapter before Harry & co head off to Hogwarts.**

* * *

" _That_ man is a teacher?" Heather asked in disbelief.

After her encounter with who she now knew to be Professor Severus Snape, Heather retreated upstairs to one of the bedrooms with the rest of those not invited to the meeting. Her embarrassment at having an audience to her slack-jawed silence at the man's jibes had faded upon realising the scale of their dislike for who they referred to as the "overgrown bat". It seemed none of them blamed her for her speechlessness at his sheer unpleasantness.

"Trust me, we're as baffled by it as you are," Harry replied grimly.

"At least he never stays for dinner," Hermione added.

Heather grimaced at the idea of trying to force down a meal while the grim-faced potions professor glared at her from across the table.

"I hope I never run into him again," she muttered.

"Trust me, we hope the same. But his bark is worse than his bite - least while Dumbledore has him muzzled," Fred shrugged "He can't harm you."

"Sirius won't let him," George added.

Heather frowned at him, in no mood to be teased about something he'd entirely misunderstood. Harry, however, took her frown as confusion, explaining "Sirius hates him, they were at Hogwarts together."

George mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "That too."

Mercifully, it was drowned out by a knocking at the front door, indicating the arrival of the last of the Order members. Distantly they heard Mrs Weasley greet them with a "Bill! There you are, dear," before the portrait of Mrs Black began her screaming about blood traitors. It was a good five minutes before she was silenced, and the Order shut away in the kitchen to begin their meeting. By that time, George's strange comments were long forgotten, and Fred was producing a set of extendable ears for them to listen in with.

Heather left them to it. The nerves she'd feel perching on the landing trying to be as silent as possible wouldn't be worth the pay-off, especially considering she wouldn't be able to keep up with what they were talking about anyway. If anything truly important came up, she assumed Harry would mention it to her...and then go through the pains of explaining it, too. The matter of Snape was troubling her. They'd all explained the matter of their potions professor, and of his shady past, and the idea of somebody close to Voldemort knowing where she was didn't sit well with her at all. She hoped this magic they had protecting them from detection was as strong as everybody thought. But she supposed if it was safe enough for Harry, it was more than safe enough for her.

Instead of sitting around worrying, she excused herself to her bedroom. After changing into a comfortable, casual black knitted dress and pulling on a pair of black leggings beneath it, she wrestled a hairbrush through her hair. If she was going to be made to play tonight, she wouldn't do so looking like she'd just been dragged through a bush backwards. It was then that she took the brief moment of privacy to smoke a cigarette and take a couple of pills - she'd need time for them to kick in before dinner. She was already taking more than she'd originally intended, but it wasn't every night the entire Order was in for dinner, nor was it every night she ran into sneering ex-Death Eaters (thankfully). She just hoped Scott wouldn't get it in his head to stay.

When she heard the teenagers scramble back into the bedroom, she knew the meeting must be coming to a close, but she still stayed upstairs until she heard the front door open and close, signifying the departure of those not lingering for dinner. Only when Harry came to her door to retrieve her a few minutes later, probably thinking she'd fallen asleep, did she leave the safety of her room. The table was already set for dinner, a few empty place settings floating themselves to the table. Heather had barely stepped foot into the kitchen when Mrs Weasley was gently ushering her towards a place at the table. It was the one she often occupied for breakfast, to the left of Sirius who always sat at the head of the table, and this time opposite Tonks.

However, instead of any of the teenagers sitting to her own left, there was now who she immediately knew must've been Bill Weasley. She had to admit, Molly had a keen eye - she probably would've fancied the pants off of the eldest Weasley sibling when she was a teenager. Luckily for the both of them, her current self and her teenage self were two very different people. He gave her a pleasant enough smile, but his constant shifting in his chair, along with his unwillingness to meet her gaze for long betrayed his discomfort.

"Heather dear, this is Bill, my eldest, Bill this is Harry's sister! I've told him all about your music," she said cheerily.

Giving the man a smile that she hoped looked neither eager nor cold, she was highly relieved when he turned to her the moment his mother moved out of ear-shot.

"Look, I'm sure you're lovely, but-."

"Your brothers explained everything," she said quickly, hoping to ease the process along.

"They did?" He seemed suspicious at that but she could hardly blame him - she would be too, if she had the twins as siblings.

"Well, more or less," she shrugged a little "Look, how about we chat, and then at the end of the night you can tell your mother about what a good new friend you've made, how I remind you of Ginny, and I can tell her….oh, something about how you gave me some advice on a crush I have, and that I helped you get an idea of what kind of flowers your girlfriend might like."

The relief on Bill's face might've been insulting if she were more easily offended, or if her own relief didn't match his. She couldn't bear the idea of going through the dinner as though it were a blind date.

"Thank you," he finally gave a smile, visibly relaxing "I'm Bill - although, er, I suppose mum just told you that."

"Heather," she smiled and shook the hand he offered.

As dinner was served and the rest of the household took their seats at the table, Heather left Bill to catch up with his siblings, and instead turned towards Sirius.

"Date not going well?" He teased quietly.

"I had hoped to be courting by Christmas but it seems no gentleman will be making an honest woman of me anytime soon," she gave a melodramatic sigh.

Sirius laughed at that, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his firewhisky "More fool them."

"I'll drink to that," she snorted, lifting her glass of water in a mocking salute.

"To men with bad taste," he joked, clinking his glass against her own.

When there was no water left in her cup, he poured half of his firewhisky in. For that, Heather was thankful - she needed all the courage she could get ahead of her big upcoming performance. But it wasn't just the courage in the form of substances that she was grateful for. Despite the voice that had been screaming in the back of her mind for countless years now that the moment she dropped her guard would be the moment she died, Heather was slowly allowing herself to relax. Which might've been dumb, considering death was a very real thing that could be on the cards now...but in the smaller scheme of things, she was beginning to grow comfortable, realising that the people around her truly meant no harm. Hell, some of them even took it a step further and meant well.

None of this, however, helped with the thought of singing in front of them. In fact it almost made things worse. At the club she could always shrug off the idea of a negative reception with "fuck 'em, they're probably assholes anyway". This could definitely not be said for her new housemates, and the idea of showing them the one thing she was supposed to be good at only for them to hate it was absolutely mortifying. Luckily, the firewhisky was pushing that thought further and further to the back of her mind.

* * *

By the time dinner was over and she'd made a good enough show of pushing food around her plate, she was feeling confident enough to tackle the matter with George and his misconceptions head on. More importantly, she was determined to do so before she sobered up enough to think better of it. Heather knew she had a fifty/fifty chance of either shooting herself directly in the foot, or making life a bit easier for herself for the remainder of the month by tackling this matter so directly. She'd faced worse odds. It was with this in mind that she approached George during one of the rare moments he was away from his twin.

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Step into my office," he said with a cheeky smile, steering her in the direction of a more quiet corner.

"Listen, what you saw earlier on, it _really_ wasn't anything," she explained quickly, lest they be interrupted "I know that it looked pretty, uh, suspect, and I know it might seem that the lady doth protest too much - but it was nothing. Well, nothing like _that_."

"It wasn't?" He eyed her thoughtfully.

"No!" She laughed "Bloody hell, how quickly do you think I work? No, Sirius and I are just friends. That's it. Scout's honour."

"I see," he said slowly.

Heather paused. She may have not been in Grimmauld Place for very long, but she'd never known either of the twins to be so careful with their words before. The 'G' on his chest confirmed that it was in fact George she'd pulled aside, but only when the other half of the pair appeared with a smug smile did she realise what had happened.

"You swapped jumpers after dinner, didn't you?" She groaned.

The widening of their smiles confirmed it.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, shaking her head.

They'd played her like a fiddle.

"Now, what exactly did my brother walk in on? It must've been fascinating to make you turn _this_ red."

"You look like Ron," George teased lightly.

"Now that's just rude, George, don't insult the poor woman like that," Fred grinned "Come on, Heather, you can tell your old pal Fred."

Suppressing another groan, she gave the two a quick, quiet, and deliberately vague, run-down of what George had actually walked in on.

"...That was it," she finished "It was a friendly gesture, nothing more - but if people start thinking there _is_ something going on, it could make things very awkward between Harry and I - not to mention Harry and Sirius - and I don't think that's the best way to begin things with my long lost sibling."

At her final point the two exchanged looks before slowly nodding.

"Alright," said George "You have a point. Your little secret is safe with us."

"...So long as you agree to test out some of our… _experiments_ for us," Fred added with a sly smile.

At this Heather felt the blood drain from her face, but thankfully the two laughed at the expression she made.

"We're joking! Merlin, what kind of sadists do you think we are?" Fred laughed, patting her on the shoulder.

"Yeah, it wouldn't do to accidentally poison the sister of our future sister-in-law," George said cheerily.

"If mum has her way, that is," Fred added.

"...Which she usually does," George finished.

Heather relaxed, and then finally laughed - as joking as they were about it, she was glad that she seemed to have set the record straight - and Fred and George's teasing didn't upset her as much as it might have if it were anybody else making those same jokes. She was used to Darren's brand of teasing - thinly veiled barbs disguised as teasing, so that if she got annoyed she was a "humourless bitch". With this, however, she got the sense that if she were to become truly upset or distressed, they'd stop. Their jokes included her more than they hurt her, and if it meant she had their mark of approval, she'd endure it with the best humour she could muster.

* * *

Having eaten little enough to prevent her buzz being ruined throughout dinner, she could've gotten away with not taking any more for the evening. But the little plastic bottle called her name as she ducked into her bedroom to get her guitar, and before she knew it she was perched at the edge of her bed with another two in hand, not quite aware of how she'd gotten there in the first place. Making a face, she put one back into the bottle, knowing her stores were running too low to pursue her usual motto of "nothing exceeds like excess". Then, begrudgingly, she halved the one that remained in her hand with practised ease. Things had been tight for a while, but it'd been a long time since she had to play in half-doses.

With a sigh, she knocked back half and placed the remaining half on her bedside cabinet. Then she looked up to see Sirius in the doorway.

"Jesus Christ," she jumped, hand flying to her chest in an attempt to stop the heart attack he'd almost induced.

"No, just me," he gave a small smile.

Heather huffed a laugh, driving all of her willpower into not looking at the halved pill on the end table. It would look too suspicious. It was true when they said strict parents raise sneaky children - all the years of Debbie breathing down her neck had turned her into a good bullshitter...if she did say so herself.

"Easy mistake to make, I think it's the hair," she forced herself to relax, playing off any nerves as surprise.

"It used to be longer, believe it or not," he leaned on the doorframe, raking a hand through his dark mop of hair.

He had a few premature streaks of grey that were less noticeable in the evening light, not that she could blame him for them, considering the life he'd had. It didn't make him appear less attractive, though - at least not to her - if anything it added an air of sophistication to his charming boyishness.

"Ah, back in your heartbreaker days," she gave an amused smile "I can picture it, actually."

Whether she was referring to the hair or the heartbreaking, he didn't seem sure - but then, neither was she.

"Fred made an odd comment before I came up here-"

"He and George are convinced we're caught up in some kind of secret love affair," Heather snorted before he could finish, standing and moving towards her guitar case.

"Merlin, how quickly do they think I work?" Sirius gave a small, amused smile "My reputation really does precede me."

"I asked the same question, funnily enough - but who said it was you who did the seducing?" She shot back, kneeling by the case and opening the latches.

"You think _I_ could be won over so quickly?"

"But I could?" She countered.

"Touche," he chuckled "How about we seduced each other, then?"

"I'm a sucker for a good compromise, you have yourself a deal," she threw the notebook that rest on top of the guitar onto the bed, before pulling out her Fender Strat, guitar pick already lodged between a couple of the strings "Mutual seduction it is. Hell of a band name, too."

"If you'd rather not perform, I could cover for you," he fixed her with a scrutinizing look, as if suspicious of her calm demeanour "Molly only meant to make a show of interest by asking you - not strongarm you into putting on a show."

"No," she shook her head "It's okay, really - it's nice to actually be in my element around here for once."

As a kid, her dad had always told her nobody got to choose a life without problems, just what problems they enjoyed solving the most. For Heather, this was it. What songs would her audience like the most? What songs would work on an unplugged electric guitar? How would she overcome her nerves? These problems questions brought her right back to her home turf, and the familiarity was worth more than anything after the week she'd had so far.

Like with any performance, knowing her audience was half the battle. The club was easy - all she had to do there was choose the raunchiest classic rock songs available and they'd go wild...if Darren wasn't too shit-faced to remember the words. The audience she'd find here was a little more complicated. She was already limited by a lack of electricity, which meant any use of an amp was out of the question, but there was also the fact that anything she played geared towards the teenagers would be met with disapproval from the older members, and vice versa. It was almost shocking how small her repertoire was once she took out anything to do with sex, drugs, or alcohol. It mostly left her with love songs, but she didn't have much of a stomach for those these days. However, she did have one or two ideas and she couldn't pretend she wasn't excited, especially now that the drugs were dulling the nerves and leaving her with about as much optimism as she was capable of.

As she waged her mental debate, something seemed to catch Sirius' eye.

"May I?" He gestured to the ragged cardboard box by the now empty guitar case.

Heather gestured for him to go ahead "Those are my dad's old records. He left them to me."

"I'm surprised his wife let you have them."

"The words 'thief' were thrown around...along with 'legal action' and 'breaking and entering' - but his will clearly stated they were to go to me, so there wasn't much she could do. You can't steal what's yours," she shrugged.

"Breaking and entering?"

"I left her place the second I turned sixteen, she wouldn't let me take 'em with me - but I knew her work hours. Broke in when she was at work and took them."

With anybody else she might've been embarrassed to admit such a thing. Or at least reluctant. It certainly wasn't something she'd admit at the breakfast table. But Sirius gave that wide grin of his and laughed with something too close to pride to make her regret sharing.

"Of course you did. How did you get in?"

She looked down sheepishly.

"Oh, now you _have_ to tell me," he caught her reluctance.

"The bathroom window upstairs would open if you rattled it enough," she admitted, feeling her cheeks burn "I broke the padlock off of the shed in the back garden, got the ladder out and uh...well, I was a lanky teenager. I could fit through the window well enough, even if it was a bit of a squeeze - nearly broke my goddamn neck in the process. Hit a bit of a snag when my boots got caught in the window - for a hot minute I thought she'd get back and find me stuck there. But, luckily, I got free, closed it behind me, found the records, and got out with the spare key she kept in the kitchen drawer. Even went through the trouble of packing the ladder away again before I left - I'm charitable like that."

"I'm impressed," he admitted with a laugh "I never considered how much more complicated muggle mischief would be. James would be-"

He caught himself, but not quite soon enough. Heather wasn't sure if it was her desire to build bridges with Sirius, or an unwillingness to spend the next however many months avoiding any mention of her birth parents - hell, maybe it was just the drug-induced mellowness permeating her body - but she steeled herself before forcing a laugh.

"Proud? I doubt it."

"You'll just have to take my word for it."

His voice was tinged by sadness as he spoke, despite how he tried to hide it, and she understood, if only a little. After all, it wasn't like James could prove it to her. Not now. They were still due a chat about her birth parents, of that she was all too aware, and she almost even brought it up. But she'd learned a long time ago not to make drug-addled promises that her sober self might not be so willing to keep. So she forced herself to say nothing more on the topic.

Luckily, he was quickly distracted when he started to sift through the records.

"ABBA?" He snickered "This is quite a collection."

"You can't make fun of me when you're the one who recognises the name."

"Some of my many, _many_ conquests involved muggle girls - they liked them," his tone was laced with sarcasm for the first part and she laughed.

"Hey, there are two kinds of people - ones who say they like ABBA, and liars," Heather replied, unabashed "People who only listen to the same three bands on loop are the same ones who can only play the intro to Paint It Black and sod all else. You want to learn about music, you listen to as much of it as possible."

"Point taken," he nodded, absorbed in the records "I recognise quite a few of these, actually...Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin…"

"It's my pride and joy, that collection," she said, watching as he flicked through vinyl after vinyl "I saved up for a portable player, but it needs electricity, which puts us shit out of luck."

If the records hadn't belonged to her dad, she'd have probably sold half of them long ago. Luckily, no matter how hard times got, she'd never quite mustered the heart to do so. For all the good it did her now. What was more painful, she wondered, withdrawing from the painkillers or from the music? At this rate, the answer would be apparent around the same time Harry and his friends left for Hogwarts, by her estimations. Her stash was dwindling by the day. She looked to Sirius to gauge whether she could risk another glance at the half a pill on the bedside table, but when she did the lightbulb was almost visible above his head.

"You've had an idea."

"I might have," he replied, "I'm not sure, but I think I may have a way of playing these."

He may as well have offered her a record deal and her weight in gold, for Heather stared at him with a mix of disbelief and awe.

"It might not work!" He said again quickly "And I'm a little worried about damaging them, if it doesn't."

"Try it with the Guns n' Roses one - Darren got me it."

She almost hoped whatever Sirius intended to try _would_ break the damn thing. She thought of Darren every time she saw it, but never quite had it in her to get rid of it - it was Appetite for Destruction, after all, and she didn't have it in her to blaspheme against the rock gods in such a way.

"He did?" Sirius' eyebrows shot up into his hairline "From the impression I got, he isn't the charitable type."

"You're right, he's not," she snorted "Not unless he wants something."

"What did he want when he bought you this?" He asked lightly, missing the grimace on her face when he did.

"Nothing important," she muttered "Anyway, if we're much longer up here we'll only spur on the rumour mill - we should get back."

* * *

Sirius shut the bedroom door behind him before he followed Heather down the stairs towards the living room, silently watching her for any signs of unease. But she showed none - other than when she manoeuvred her guitar away from the House Elf heads on the wall. But who could blame her for that? He'd half expected her to be putting on a brave face over being asked to perform for them, but it seemed she'd been telling the truth when she said she didn't mind. That allowed him to turn his mind to the more troubling piece of information.

Was he surprised that there'd been some whispering in the house that something might be going on between the two of them? He was bemused to find that the answer was yes. Perhaps if he was a few years younger, or if Azkaban and the time on the run that followed hadn't robbed him of his looks (in his opinion, anyway) the answer would be different. Even so, though, he knew in those circumstances he'd still find himself insulted that they might think he'd have inappropriate designs on James' daughter...regardless of how pretty she might be.

It was something he'd have to deal with carefully. Not that he'd distance himself from Heather - her trust was too hard-earned and selectively given for him to risk now, but he'd certainly rebuff any speculation. But it was likely nothing to really worry about - not when they had real problems on their plate. It was probably just because she was the only suitable candidate for such rumours. The only other woman who was around much was Tonks, and he didn't share the pureblood penchant for lusting over cousins. Although he supposed it was a budding rumour that wasn't entirely useless. It certainly gave them a cover story for when they had to sneak off for her magic lessons. But the consequences would be too damning to justify the benefits. He didn't even want to imagine Harry's wrath if he believed the rumours.

All in all, it was probably a good thing that his face was painted with more quiet concern than burning passion when they returned to the living room. Heather took up the bench that was usually forgotten beneath the piano, the room quieting expectantly as she plucked a few experimental notes on the guitar. Meanwhile, Sirius moved to stand beside Remus, who seemed to be making a great effort to keep his gaze away from Tonks as she almost knocked over a lamp in her haste to get a better view before she started.

"Uh...so this is a muggle song - it just came out this summer, maybe some of you have heard it, I dunno," she paused, visibly resisting the urge to nervously ramble "So...here we go, I guess."

Nearby, Harry smiled softly at his sister's nerves. Sirius didn't envy the man who tried to mock her in front of him.

Giving a few soft coughs to ready her voice, she strummed out a few chords. The electric guitar was quiet, seeing as how she couldn't plug it in, but he resisted the urge to cast an amplifying spell, lest it surprise her and throw her off. It didn't matter once she began to sing, anyhow.

" _Some might say that sunshine follows thunder, go and tell it to the man who cannot shine_ ," she kept her eyes pinned to the frets as she strummed out the chords, much in the way she kept her eyes cast downward when on stage " _Some might say that we should never ponder, on our thoughts today 'cause they hold sway over time._ "

The first handful of lines reminded him of a Quidditch player getting back on the broom after a long break - the skill was all still there, it was just the confidence that needed adjusting. She wobbled a little, but then she found her balance, and after that she soared.

" _Some might say we will find a brighter day_ ," her back straightened now, and her face became more relaxed " _Some might say we will find a brighter day_."

Her voice was deeper than Sirius had expected, with a warmth to it that made it hard for him to tear his eyes from her. It might not have been as professional or polished as an opera singer, but it made it no less lovely. As she performed - as impromptu and informal as the performance was - she seemed to lose the demeanour she had so often around the house, the one that made it seem like the always expected the floor to give way beneath her feet upon her next step. It was no small relief to witness, affording him a glimpse of the carefree woman she'd been for a few moments at a time back before the wizarding world sank its claws into her life once more - the one who still peeked her head out every so often when they were alone, or when she talked one-on-one with her brother.

" _Some might say they don't believe in heaven, go and tell it to the man who lives in hell_ ," the next verse began " _Some might say you get what you've been given, if you don't get yours, I won't get mine as well."_

Sirius could see why she took her music so seriously - it clear she was meant for this much in the way her brother belonged on the Quidditch pitch. The song continued, her voice becoming louder and her movements more relaxed. He didn't even realise that he had a daft smile on his face until she locked eyes with him and returned it with no small amount of candour.

* * *

" _You know what some might say….You know what some might say…"_

By the time Heather finished the song, one of her all-time favourites at that, she was so thrilled at having a chance to play again (and without having to worry about waking anybody up) that she didn't even have it in her to worry about their reactions. Luckily, she didn't have to. There was a brief pause, as if they were making sure it was truly finished, and then Fred broke the silence.

"Not bad, that muggle music," he said lightly.

Letting out a nervous laugh, it died on her lips as everybody crammed into the room began an enthusiastic round of applause. It wasn't that it was the first positive response she'd ever gotten, just that she'd spent so much of her life toughening herself up for the negative ones that she never quite seemed to know how to handle the opposite end of the spectrum. Drunken boos and heckles she could handle. But genuine warmth and praise from this colourful new cast of characters who had entered her life? People who didn't bat an eyelid at chess pieces that broke into hand-to-hand combat, or chocolate that hopped around with a mind of its own, impressed by one little song? Her cheeks blazed, but she hid it by moving her guitar to the side and giving a joking bow, allowing her hair to fall into her face.

"Very good, dear! Very good! We have a songbird among us," Mrs Weasley said warmly "Bill, what did you think?"

Thankfully, Mr Weasley jumped in before his son could speak.

"So how do these muggle instruments work, then?"

* * *

Hours later, Heather shot up in the bed, breathing heavily and making a noise of disgust upon noticing the thick layer of sweat that had settled over her entire body. With the way the house sapped heat at night, she couldn't even pretend it was just because of the summer weather instead of the nightmare. Her chest heaved as she tried to return her breathing to normal, staring around the room as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness and make sense of the shadowy shapes around the room. When she was a child she'd often frighten herself, the shapes taking on the form of ghosts - such was her overactive imagination. It was probably because of this that when she squinted at an unfamiliar silhouette in the corner, she initially insisted to herself that it must be a bag she'd forgotten about, or maybe even a pile of clothes, forming an odd shape. But then it moved, and that was when she started screaming.

The shape was making some kind of noise, seeming to realise it had been caught, but she couldn't hear it above her own screaming, scrambling back in the bed, her hand flying under her pillow for a knife that wasn't there. _No, no, no_. Terror gripped her then, her mind immediately filled with thoughts of Death Eaters, Voldemort, Dementors, and whatever other dark creatures he might have at his disposal. Why wasn't the knife there?! Well, she knew why not - she hadn't bothered placing it there. She'd assumed she'd be safe in a house full of trained witches and wizards. Stupid, she'd been _stupid_ and _complacent_. Hadn't she learned what those two things earned her now?!

But after getting to know them all, it was easy to forget just how well trained her housemates were - that she was living with a group of witches and wizards who were more or less acting as soldiers in their world - the fact that she'd only just drawn in enough breath to scream for a second time when the door to the bedroom flew open with a bang was a reminder of this fact, and a welcome one at that. Within seconds the room was lit up, and the creature in her room was revealed. Well, the _Kreacher_ in her room might've been more apt.

Caught between mortification at the scene she'd caused over the House Elf, and terror at the idea that she had no idea how many nights he'd been creeping into the bedroom while she slept, she sat frozen in the bed, staring at Kreacher with eyes the size of dinner plates. Kreacher, for his part, was muttering angrily, gaze filling with pure disgust and malice.

"Nasty little blood-traitor staying in poor Master Regulus' bedroom," he was grumbling, doing his utmost to hide something behind his back "Worse than a squib it is, _whoring_ with muggles, tainting the Master's quarters with its-"

She could hardly catch a breath as he continued on his tirade, having apparently decided that he may as well, seeing as he'd already been caught. As he spoke he looked at her in disgust, then fleetingly at her would-be rescuers. It was then that her brain registered who had run into the room - Sirius had been the first one in, his wand brandished in front of him, with Arthur Weasley not far behind him, his hair bearing a remarkable resemblance to Harry's as he stood beside Sirius in his pyjamas, and finally Harry himself, whose head was turning quickly about the room in search of any potential threat, breathing almost as hard as she was while he did so.

" _Kreacher_ ," Sirius was the first to react to the poison the elf was spitting, snarling at him in return "Go back to your cupboard - _now."_

The rest of the house was stirring, with called questions and creaking floorboards beginning to sound in the hallway. Looking on in horror - for it was bad enough that the three who saw her in this state had done so, and she had no desire to increase that number to the whole bloody house - she could have sobbed in relief when Arthur caught her eye and turned back to the hallway, where she heard him begin to make excuses and order everybody back to bed. If there was a god out there, she dearly hoped he'd bless the Weasleys.

Kreacher, who was begrudgingly obeying Sirius' orders, slunk past her, a tattered pillowcase which bulged and clattered dragging on the floor behind him. When he was within arm's reach, Sirius snatched the pillowcase from him and shoved him the rest of the way out of the room, which the House Elf endured with little more than a grunt of annoyance. Heather wasn't sure what to make of the pity that streaked through her at the sight.

The wellbeing of the creature soon began to slip from her mind, however, as her lungs continued their protest. Burying her face in her hands, Heather did all she could to make them start working again, but they were in open revolt at this point, and the more she tried to calm herself down, the more her body resisted. In any other situation she would've just let it happen, and allowed it to work its way through her system, but not here. These people already probably thought she was weak as it was, she'd be damned if she gave them more of a reason to think that. But it didn't appear she had much choice in the matter. Harry lingered by the door as Sirius followed Arthur out into the hallway, peering into the pillowcase full of Black family memorabilia that Kreacher had tried to sneak out. She was vaguely aware of him giving a sigh of annoyance as the pillowcase clattered to the floor. But what she noticed most of all was the wand in Harry's hand, even as it hung limply at his side.

He'd almost lost everything for doing magic out of school, and here he was, about to do it again. And for what? _Her_? She might've laughed, had she'd been able. But under these circumstances it seemed almost as horrifying to her as Kreacher lurking about the room while she slept.

"Are you alright?" He stepped quickly towards the bedside, looking very much like he wanted to do something, but had no idea what.

"'m...fine," the fact that she had to force the words out between gasps for air probably made her words a little bit less believable.

Harry scoffed at her claim. He reached a hand out, somewhat unsurely, and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. Although she couldn't quite meet his eye, Heather lifted a hand and squeezed his forearm gently in thanks. Arthur was still in the hallway, doing his utmost to convince everybody to go back to bed, when Sirius ducked back into the room and closed the door behind him. He took one look at her and his lips set into a grim line.

"Harry, open the window, we need some air this bloody tomb," he gestured towards the window.

Her brother seemed thrilled at finally having something to do, quickly crossed the room to do so. The ancient wooden window frame creaked in protest as he did his best to force it up and he grunted, struggling to get it open more than a few inches. It was a good thing he had such difficulty, however, because Sirius didn't hesitate to slide an arm beneath her own and proceed to help her towards the window. But in doing so, the covers slid below her hips and reminded her that she was wearing nothing but underwear from the waist down.

Making an exaggerated "whoops" face, which made her breath out a ragged imitation of a laugh between gasps for air, Sirius tugged the blanket back up over her hips, where she used the hand that wasn't slung over his shoulder to hold it there. By the time she reached the window, black spots were forming in her vision. For Heather this was a well-walked path. There had been countless nights out in the muggle world when mishap after mishap would befall her - Darren would make one sleazy comment too many, she'd lose her wallet on the way home, or perhaps miss the last bus of the night - and she'd keep it together just long enough to get through the front door of her flat. After that, who cared? She'd spend the night breaking down and then put herself back together the next morning - with a little more eyeliner than usual to disguise the redness around her eyes.

What she wasn't used to was having an audience. She didn't let people see her cry, and she didn't let people see her weak. As far as others were concerned, crying wasn't even something she was capable of. This little fiasco was seriously ruining that carefully crafted image.

"Did...Did Kreacher _do_ something? Some sort of spell?" Harry asked doubtfully.

But while the embarrassment fuelled her need to calm down, it also prevented her from doing so.

"Jesus, fuck," she breathed practically hanging out of the window if only to obscure their view of her face.

"No, he wouldn't be able to even if he wanted to," Sirius said somewhere behind her "Heather is having a -...well, she's hyperventilating."

It sounded better than "panic attack", at least, which she suspected was what he'd nearly said at first. Even just a month ago she'd never thought she'd see the day where she was thanking whatever twisted god presided over this world for Sirius Black. Scott used to call them "moments". She was having a _moment,_ one of her little _moments_ had hit. A nice way of sugarcoating it, she supposed. It made the whole thing sound much more minor than it felt whenever it hit - like a sneeze or a coughing fit.

When she finally brought her head in from the cold night air and mustered the courage to look at Harry, she was surprised (and highly relieved) to see no judgement or disappointment in his face. Just a level of understanding she did not expect. Then she felt silly for not expecting it in the first place. After everything he'd been through, of course he'd relate. Everybody around him seemed to think he was some superhuman figure, and the feats he'd performed _were_ impressive - there were no two ways about that - but it didn't change the fact that he was a teenage boy. He'd have to be a psychopath to be unaffected by it. Heather found herself gaining a new level of respect for Mrs Weasley's need to protect him as much as possible.

"Sorry," she breathed quietly once she had full control over her lungs once again "Don't know what got ahold to me."

He didn't seem to fully buy that - but, luckily, if he was tempted to challenge her on it, he resisted. Perhaps he understood her need to brush it under the rug.

"I'll...go and tell Ron that everything's fine - no doubt he'll be waiting for me," he said eventually, but he paused when he got to the doorway and gave her one last analytical stare.

She mustered the best smile she could in that moment, and was pleased when he returned it. That just left Sirius. He waited patiently for her posture to relax, and when she finally looked at him instead of pushing the issue (like she'd expected) he asked one simple question.

"Nightcap?"

Letting out a ragged laugh, she pushed her hair back from her face and nodded "Sure. Just let me put pants on first."

He chuckled at that, nodding "That might be best."

The door closed behind him with a quiet click and she dropped the blankets, grabbing the first pair of sweatpants she found when she reached her hand into the case Remus had loaned her.

* * *

"I'm sorry," she said quietly as Sirius pressed a glass of firewhisky into her hands.

"Don't be daft, waking up to Kreacher's miserable mug would scare the life out of any of us."

"I woke up the whole house."

"I was already awake."

" _Sirius_."

" _Heather_."

A begrudging snort of laughter left her lips and she shook her head, taking a big gulp from the glass "Look, I'm going to address the elephant in the room here."

The baffled look on Sirius' face was so convincing she almost believed it. Taking in her unamused expression, his face turned even more earnest.

"I really don't know what you're talking about!" He insisted.

"I know I'm not exactly the ideal candidate for any of this," she sighed, waving a hand around her "I can't have been what you were all hoping for."

"We were hoping for Harry's sister, and we got her."

Heather made a face.

"We did! Heather, most of the seasoned members of the audience can't even say Voldemort's name. You don't have the luxury of having grown up with all of this, which I imagine makes it even more frightening in some regards. None of us expected you to show up, single-handedly defeat every bastard that follows him in hand-to-hand combat, laughing all the while. If anything, you've dealt with it all rather well."

She snorted at that, but didn't have the energy - mental or physical - to argue with him.

"That was a lovely song, by the way. I didn't have a chance to say it earlier."

"Thank you," she gave a small smile, grateful for the chance in subject.

"She can take a compliment!" He teased in mock-surprise.

"Oh fuck off," she snorted.

It was a knee-jerk reaction - the sort of thing she'd say to Scott under similar circumstances. But before she could worry about his reaction, Sirius was giving his signature bark of laughter and she couldn't help but join in.

"I'm glad to see you're becoming more comfortable here," he smirked.

It was with no small amount of surprise that she realised he was right. No doubt there would come a time when the walls around them felt too constricting and claustrophobic, and her little "moment" beforehand with Kreacher had admittedly been a minor speed-bump, but that was all it was. Minor. In a world where evil wizards were plotting her demise, she had to take the good moments where she could find them - and if it came to a choice between being curled up in bed in her shitty apartment, coaching herself through her panic attacks, or having Sirius be there to hand her a drink and make her laugh instead…she may not have been ready to admit it, but she knew she'd choose the latter. Her knight in a leather jacket, indeed.

* * *

 **A/N: I have to admit I'm not completely thrilled with this chapter - but I've been working on it for months and at this point I just need to get past it and over this stage of the story, so I did my best.**

 **I did a bit of 'research' when I was trying to think of what insults/names Kreacher might call Heather, and whether half-bloods can be considered blood-traitors. The gist of what I found from my online travels was that, although half-bloods didn't have the same status as pure-bloods, they weren't persecuted the same way, as we know, and there seemed to be a be a bit of disagreement as to whether the prejudiced of the Wizarding world would use "half-blood" as an insult, seeing as Voldemort himself was one, and so were some of his followers. They're hardly going to insult the Dark Lord himself, are they? Bellatrix does use it as an insult to Harry in the fifth movie, but it could be argued either that the movies are more susceptible to minor errors/changes like this (I'm looking at you, Goblet of Fire), or maybe that there's a bit of a double standard going on (not hard to imagine) - that the half-bloods who don't believe in blood purity are "filthy half-bloods", while those who are prejudiced are fine.**

 **In the end, I figured Heather's biggest sin in the eyes of the prejudiced members of the Wizarding world would be her (apparent) rejection of her magic, and her actively choosing to spend her time amongst muggles instead. If "blood-traitors" are scum, the idea of somebody actively rejecting their magic in order to live with and like muggles must be a sin of the highest order in their eyes. I also had a look around to see if "blood-traitor" was a term used solely for pure-bloods who associated with muggleborns and muggles, or if it could apply to half-bloods, too. The internet seemed a little divided on this one, but the general consensus ruled in favour of the latter.**

 **As for the more, uh, "choice" insults - I figured it was plausible for Kreacher to be that nasty, after all he probably would've heard such language from Sirius' lovely parents, and JK would've been limited by the age of the audience in terms of what she could have him canonically say, but in fanfiction we have no such limitations. None of this is particularly earth-shattering, I just like to explain my logic with stuff like this - if only to prove that the logic is there.**


	11. Chapter 11

Heather didn't realise quite how much she was dreading the departure of the teenagers until the night before they were set to leave. The nights in the house had grown to be more or less joyous - and often filled with music, once Fred and George learned of her ability to learn songs by ear. It wasn't long before they took great joy in challenging her by making up songs on the spot (usually simple affairs whose language had Molly snapping warnings at them) so she could play them back at them on her guitar. In the beginning she'd suspected that she might need new strings before it came time for them to depart, but on the night that one snapped it was fixed with a wave of George's wand before she even had time to mourn it. Two realisations hit her then - the first, for the billionth time, that magic had more uses than she could possibly fathom, and the second being that she was very, very glad to have found these people. While evenings locked up in her box of a flat, alone, was something she pined for every time she was subjected to Darren's company...the longer she spent here, the more she dreaded the day she'd inevitably have to return to it.

She wasn't used to _missing_ people. Sure, there was her dad, but that was different. He wasn't around to worry about anymore. Debbie? Ha! And Scott? Well, her anger still overwhelmed any traces of affection that might have remained. It was only when they sat around the dinner table, with Molly barking harried last-minute reminders, that she realised just how deep the sinking feeling had managed to burrow down into her.

"Finish packing _tonight_ \- I want you all ready to go come morning, I won't have us missing the train because somebody managed to misplace a cauldron!" Mrs Weasley was ordering as she dished out supersized portions of beef stew.

"Never again," Ron muttered into his bowl.

Heather made a mental note to ask for the story behind that one if the mood threatened to grow too sombre later on.

Molly's words, however, ended up being the sole exception to their steadfast avoidance of the topic throughout the entirety of dinner. Harry said nothing of it to her, and so Heather followed his lead. She hardly wanted to do so and ruin the relatively small amount of cheer they'd struggled to muster around the table, determined not to spoil their last night as a group. However, the impending arrival of the next morning loomed over them like a stormcloud...and none seemed to be feeling it quite as sorely as Sirius. He hid it well behind his typically charming persona, but in the moments he thought that nobody was paying him any mind, a sort of shadowed emptiness would overtake his eyes, their usual glimmering grey turning dull. Heather had seen it twice before; when he recounted his ordeal in Azkaban, and then on countless occasions beforehand, staring back at her in the mirror as she struggled to pull herself from the clutches of an episode.

It brought a strange heaviness to her chest to realise that he knew what that felt like - and probably a hundred times more harshly at that. For the first time, Heather began to wonder if her presence at 12 Grimmauld Place wouldn't be entirely useless after all. Sirius made no secret of desiring a greater role within the Order...perhaps if she threw herself into her magic lessons with renewed vigour, she could give him a small semblance of that. If nothing else, she could provide a supportive presence of somebody who understood. In her experience, others - even those who only meant the best - could easily make things worse in a single sentence. "Keep your chin up", or "you just need to soldier on" probably sounded fairly innocent to anybody who hadn't journeyed through the bleak fog that was depression, but they also happened to be the complete opposite of helpful. If she could ease the ache simply by being there and understanding, it was the least she could do. Even if it did nothing, she could still at least _try_. Sirius had gone above and beyond to help her cling onto her sanity while adjusting to her new circumstances, she could hardly bring herself to turn a blind eye to his problems throughout the duration of their joint 'hiding'.

Lost in thought as she was, she barely even realised she'd been staring like an idiot until their eyes met and he instantly plastered on a smile. Only a tiny fraction of it reached his eyes, though, and she was ready to chalk that up to acting more than anything else. Still, this was neither the time nor the place, so she returned it before looking back down at her dinner.

* * *

"I don't know how much help I'll be, Sirius," Hermione said doubtfully "My parents are dentists, not doctors - and I don't know much about even that, really."

Hermione's version of not knowing much was probably vastly different from the average person's, Sirius suspected. He wasn't disheartened.

"I'm not trying to test you, don't worry," he reassured "If you don't know there's nothing lost, and if you do, I'm in a better position to help. All I ask is that you don't tell Harry."

Hermione's eyebrows arched in surprise, and he could hardly blame her. How much energy had he spent in the Order trying to persuade them that his godson wasn't a baby to be coddled and shielded from everything? But this was different. Voldemort and his plans were a very real threat. His suspicions about Heather were just that - suspicions.

"If she's unwell, I'm sure there'll be a wizarding cure much more useful, and we can work on getting it for her before you're even back for Christmas. That way, when we _do_ tell Harry, it's no longer a problem, rather than just another weight on his shoulders."

The boy had only just gotten his sister in his life - the last thing Sirius wanted to do was make him worry that this might be at stake. He'd likely flat-out refuse to go back to Hogwarts altogether if he thought so, and even if the selfish part of him would be pleased by this (however much admitting it to himself shamed him), Sirius wasn't quite so selfish as to kid himself that this would be a good thing. At least not for Harry, and he was what mattered. Hermione had stayed silent at Dumbledore's urging when she thought it was for Harry's own good, he had to hope she'd do the same now.

"All right," she agreed "Let me see."

With a smile of relief, Sirius produced the halved pill he'd lifted from Heather's nightstand.

"It's only half," she said, squinting at the letters imprinted on one side "So half of the letters will be missing - it'd be difficult to work out with all of them, never mind half…usually it's just some sort of serial number for the factory..."

Sirius' hopes dampened a little.

" _But_ if it's halved that likely means they're strong," her brow furrowed as she visibly worked through the problem in her mind "...Or she's running out. Maybe both. She didn't say anything about any kind of illness? Surely she'd have let you know when she was brought in, how else would she get her medication?"

That was just it - he couldn't be sure she would have told him. She'd already expressed worries of appearing weak because of her lack of magical knowledge, and it was probably a stroke of luck that he'd confided in him about her other problems, he couldn't imagine she'd be keen on telling them she was _also_ sick.

"I'm not sure she would," he settled for.

"Well, I'm not sure I can-," Hermione squinted at the lettering once more before stopping short "Wait."

"What is it?"

"This has to be a 'D'," she indicated the halved letter in the middle with the tip of her fingernail "Which makes the first three letters 'COD'...I think this is _codeine -_ or something that contains it, at least."

Her brow furrowed even more deeply than before at this, while Sirius wished dearly that her words meant anything to him.

"Is that...bad? What is it for?"

"It's an opiate - er, a strong painkiller, a _very_ strong one - I only know because my mum was prescribed it when she broke her ankle."

"They're meant for pain _that_ bad?" Sirius felt his blood chill in alarm.

Could this be an additional explanation to her frequent change in demeanour? Of course, he believed her when gave him her explanation, but he couldn't help but wonder if her quietness was caused in part by whatever pain she was in. This refusal to tell any of them had to be the Lily in her - James was always insisting to the Marauders, and himself personally when he moved in with him, that a problem shared was a problem halved.

"Yes, but…" Hermione hesitated and then shook her head, apparently changing her mind entirely about what she was going to say "You should ask her about it, but do it carefully. There'll be a reason she didn't say anything."

Sirius got the strong impression that she wanted to say more, but his gratitude won out, and he knew it wouldn't be long before Harry or Ron became too suspicious as to what they were talking about.

"Thank you, Hermione, truly. You've been a great help."

The girl handed him back the pill as though she couldn't get it out of her hands fast enough, and descended the stairs without looking back. He could hardly blame her. This was a troubling development. While he wanted to be frustrated with Heather for not trusting him with whatever problem this was, he couldn't in all honesty blame her. The extent to which she'd confided in him so far was a resounding success, he'd not convince himself otherwise - and nor would he admit how warmed he was by it. Even if she wasn't proud, or fiercely independent, approaching somebody and admitting perceived weakness after perceived weakness would be difficult for anybody, in _any_ situation. Nothing about her circumstances were bound to make it any easier.

Stifling a sigh, Sirius pocketed it and gnawed on his lower lip in thought. He'd need to keep a keen eye out for any signs of symptoms. It seemed the more he learned about Heather, the more questions he ended up with, and the more of an enigma she became. For good or ill, they were in for an interesting few months.

* * *

Heather had only just changed into a Led Zeppelin shirt that was far too big for her and a pair of leggings, ready to settle down for the evening when a knock sounded at her door. At first she thought it was Sirius, but then Molly poked her head around the door and she had to do her best not to visibly deflate.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, dear, I just wanted to have a chat - no doubt tomorrow will be too hectic for it."

"Of course, come in," she gestured and hoped her face didn't show the full extent of her bafflement.

"Harry already know this, or at least I hope he does, but I just wanted to make sure you do too," the Weasley matriarch wrung her hands in front of herself "I know we're all leaving tomorrow and you'll be left here, but if you should need anything - anything at all - I'm only an owl away. Just address it to the Burrow and it'll get to me."

Molly's kindness made it very difficult for Heather to be annoyed at her overbearing streak. She couldn't even help but wonder if it _was_ true overbearingness, or if it was more to do with the fact that any ounce of maternal treatment was likely to feel too much because she was simply so unused to it.

"I…" she was lost for words for a moment, and felt thoroughly ridiculous for how much the gesture had touched her "Thank you. That means a lot, really, I appreciate it."

"Of course, of course," she waved a hand and gave her a warm smile "We all look out for each other here."

Not knowing what to say, Heather said nothing. Instead she just smiled and clasped her own hands in front of her. The idea of a community like this who looked after one another no-strings-attached was something she'd long since written off as a fairytale. Now that she'd encountered one, she was just sort of waiting for the catch.

"...And it's on that note that I hope you won't mind what I want to say next…"

Ah. And there the catch was. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to work out that she probably wouldn't like what was going to be said next, so she slowly lowered herself to the edge of the bed and watched with a tilted head as Mrs Weasley searched for her next words.

"I spoke to Bill before he left, and he explained that you gave him some advice on that girl he's been talking to."

"I hope you don't mind," she said slowly, not sure why it was an issue "It wasn't anything crazy, just some flower suggestions, places around London they could go…"

"Oh no, no, I don't mind at all," she gave a high pitched laugh that suggested otherwise "It's what he said next that, well...it worried me a little bit."

The older woman came to sit beside her on the bed, fixing her with a thoroughly concerned look "He mentioned that you asked him for some similar advice - that you have a bit of a crush and that he helped you with it."

She could see where this was going, and it was with a sinking feeling that she realised she had no idea how to untangle this particular web that she'd accidentally weaved. Seeing how caught out she must've looked, Mrs Weasley gave a quiet sigh and continued.

"I won't breathe a word, don't you worry, but I can't in good conscience leave without cautioning you."

Oh, dear lord.

"Believe it or not I was young once, too. I can imagine the appeal that a man like Sirius might have...from your perspective."

At this Heather had to grit her teeth so that she didn't laugh. From what she'd seen in her relatively short time here, Mrs Weasley could see the appeal of Sirius Black about as much as Harry could see the appeal of Voldemort.

"Times like these have a way of pushing people together who wouldn't ordinarily choose one another and aren't necessarily well-matched - as does close proximity. You'll be going through both, and you're so very young, I would hate for you to make a decision that you might later regret…"

Heather's jaw-clenching was now more fuelled by annoyance than humour. There was just so much in that one statement that she could find fault with - speaking purely in hypotheticals, of course. 'Who wouldn't normally choose one another'? She, for one, had found Sirius attractive the moment she met him, and had been alarmed to find that this completely failed to abate the more she got to know him. It was a dumb little schoolgirl crush at most, but it was enough for her to acknowledge (at least to herself) that Sirius was very much her "type". Molly hardly knew her well enough to argue otherwise. So what else could she be saying but "the only time he would look twice at you would be if there were no other prospective candidates to be found for both miles and years"? While she didn't kid herself that the woman knew Sirius' mind, she also couldn't help but feel slightly insulted.

And it had hardly gone uphill from there, had it? The woman hardly knew her at all and thought she could push her towards one man and away from another, all the while knowing her mind better than she did herself? Good intentions or no - as she tried to remind herself, determined to afford the benefit of the doubt - the whole thing was condescending, and if there were two things that pissed Heather off the most, they were condescension, and being told what to do. It was this that had her failing to bite her tongue against what was probably an unwise response.

"I suppose that's between Sirius and I though, isn't it?"

It would've been smarter, and perhaps kinder, to reassure the woman that she and Sirius were nothing more than friends, that she was referring to somebody else entirely to Bill, and any worries were completely unfounded. But she couldn't escape the nagging feeling that doing so would set a dangerous precedent. If she acted like such opinions or suggestions were welcome, just to escape a bit of awkwardness, how could she possibly set boundaries afterwards? Molly Weasley may have acted as the mother Harry needed, but Heather had no such need.

It clearly hadn't been the response she'd been expecting, her jaw hanging open a little in shock, then opening a little more as though she might argue before finally snapping shut. She didn't have to speak for Heather to know what she was thinking - from Molly's perspective she'd just moved her tent out of no man's land in the middle of this little civil war, and pitched it on the side that was considered Sirius'.

"I see. Well-"

Whatever she'd been about to respond with was cut off by a knock at the door, and then a prolonged creak of the hinges as it swung open.

"It seems you're in high demand this evening."

Sirius choosing that moment to seek her out was either a feat of excellent or appalling timing - she couldn't decide which. Although the relief that flooded through her at the arrival of an escape route was undeniable.

"What can I say? You all have impeccable taste," she returned his smile with a strained one of her own.

Whether it was because of the poorly hidden animosity between the two (something that Heather feared now extended to her, from Molly's side at least), or simply because Sirius didn't seem to care much about giving a bad impression, he made no move to hide the fact that he was waiting for Molly to leave before he told her why he was there. There was an awkward silence where she seemed to want to fight him on it, but then she huffed and left the room. Sirius closed the door behind her - but when Heather opened her mouth to speak he held a finger to his lips. Another moment or two passed until they heard the stairs creak as the Weasley matriarch descended them.

"You're just spurring on the rumour mill, you know," she said, but with little ire - hadn't she just done the same thing?

"She'll miss me when she returns home," he grinned.

The corners of her lips twitched upwards as she fought a snort of disbelief.

"You don't think so?" His mock-hurt might've been more believable if not for the smirk on his face.

"I think she'll find it in herself to put on a brave face," she replied diplomatically, but not without a smirk of her own.

"What was that all about, anyway? There was quite an atmosphere when I walked in."

"I'll tell you once everybody's gone tomorrow."

If she told him what had just transpired - or that his ability to mentor her appropriately had been essentially questioned - it would likely be the last straw between himself and Molly, and she didn't want Harry's final night to end in a screaming match in the kitchen. Perhaps she should've just made up a lie about having somebody on the outside waiting for her. Now all she could rely on to prevent any drama was Molly not airing her suspicions, however unfounded, to the likes of Harry, or any source that might report back to him. This much, however, she trusted the woman with. It was clear she wanted Harry to go through the absolute minimum amount of stress. Accusing his godfather of having some sort of torrid affair with his sister probably wouldn't help achieve that goal.

"Well, now I'm absolutely intrigued," his tone was light, but she could tell from how he scrutinised her face that he wasn't keen on being brushed off."

"Well, you know what they say about patience," she shrugged "What brings you to my office?"

"I...have an idea," he said slowly, before regarding the door with a wary look "But it requires your cooperation."

Whether it was the thrill of having something new to do, or simply the prospect of being useful, this piqued her interest. It must've shown on her face, for he gave a bright smile of approval and continued.

"I'd very much like to see Harry off tomorrow - to the platform and all, not just to the front door - but doing so, without you there, would interfere with my ability to watch over _you_."

Ah. This dampened her spirits a little. Once again, she managed to be a nuisance. However, Sirius continued.

"...and then I thought about how much it would mean to him to have you there too. So many of his peers have their whole families crowded onto the platform year after year to see them off, and he's never had that."

"I'd love to,' she said honestly "But how? If the Death Eaters are willing to make such a scene in front of non-magical people, surely they'd have no qualms about doing so tomorrow?"

"They're cowards," he waved a hand "They didn't expect anybody with any ability to put up a fight to be there that night - they know he'll be heavily guarded by the Order tomorrow, as well as countless other capable witches and wizards who wouldn't be happy to see Harry harmed. Chaos in a muggle bar they can write off as scare-mongering, but a duel on Platform 9 and ¾? They wouldn't risk it, especially not if it proves Dumbledore right."

The Order had also been certain they wouldn't show up at the club, though, hadn't they? But he had a point, she supposed...although it still seemed terribly reckless - by anybody's standards. Picking up on her edging towards agreement, he then hit out with his trump card.

"And who says they'll know it's us, anyway?"

Heather's brow furrowed. Sure, there was no question about how that could work for him - his scruffy, er, 'alter-ego' had been alluded to often enough around the house. But that made no difference to her own circumstances.

"I can just about light a cigarette with magic, I don't think I'm ready to transform into a...a goose, or whatever."

"Oh you're much more of a cat than a goose, I think," he teased easily "But don't worry, I'm not going to turn try to turn you into an animagus over the course of one night. Your natural hair colour - it's red, is it not?"

Did he know that because of the one time he'd seen her as a baby, the roots that were slowly beginning to peak out atop her head, or had the Order been painfully thorough in their digging through her past? It couldn't be the eyebrows - she dyed those too. She chose not to dwell on it and nodded instead.

"If I can manage to get the dye out with some sort of spell - and I do have a few ideas - I'd happily put money on anybody present writing you off as a Weasley, if they even pay you any mind at all."

As much as she wanted to instantly agree to anything that might help her prove herself useful, Heather hesitated.

"And they're used to seeing you without glasses," he pointed out.

But wouldn't wearing them just emphasise the resemblance between herself and her brother? Gnawing on her lip, Heather silently deliberated, but when she looked back to Sirius it was almost alarming how quickly her mind was made up. The hope on his face was a more than welcome contrast to the emptiness that occupied his eyes all throughout dinner. If her agreement could stave that off for just a little longer, she'd take the risk. If she didn't, she suspected she'd hate herself come morning when they all left without them and he was positively miserable.

"...These spells you have in mind better not leave me bald," she sighed.

"Would I do that to you right before being locked in the same house as you for months on end?" He tried to play her agreement off teasingly, but his smile positively blinded her with its brilliance.

"Considering all you'd need to do was keep your wand away from me to stop me from getting revenge? Possibly, yes."

"Ah Heather, don't underestimate yourself - you're resourceful, you'd find a way to make me suffer."

* * *

Not even an hour had passed when Harry appeared at her door, stopping in before it was time to turn in for the night. His godfather was correct about her being in high demand that night. At first she thought it was Sirius, too excited about his plan to wait until there was no doubt everybody else was asleep, but when she opened it to see her brother standing in the doorway she was almost relieved. Not because he wasn't Sirius, but because the idea of allowing the whole evening to pass with no mention of their imminent separation left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Come on in," she stepped out of the way to allow him inside, and then closed the door behind him.

"All packed then?" She asked after a beat of silence.

"Mostly," he shrugged "I wanted to give you this."

He held out a roll of parchment to her. Heather accepted it and sat down on the bed, her legs folded beneath her. She gestured for him to do the same as she unrolled the parchment. Three or four seemingly nonsense words in, she finally realised it was the list of spells she'd suggested he give her. And boy, was it a long list.

"I was going to write down what they do beside them, but then I started to run out of room...and Sirius can explain it anyway so it doesn't matter that much," he said sheepishly.

"Better to be over-prepared than under-prepared," she reassured.

She was determined not to show just how much this list intimidated her. If he could willingly walk straight into danger year after year, she could learn a few dozen spells in the relative comfort and safety of her gloomy new home.

"Is it an 'in order of importance' type thing or difficulty, or...?"

"Honestly it was just all of the ones that came to mind," he scratched the back of his neck but lost some of his bashfulness at her sincerity "Sirius can help with that too I suppose. The list would've been more organised if I asked Hermione for help, but she doesn't exactly appro-"

"Harry, honestly, it's perfect. Like you said, Sirius will know what order to take them in," she forced a cheerful expression as she continued to read the list.

"Just...Make sure you know Expelliarmus - the Disarming Charm - well. _Really_ well. If I could only have you know one spell, it'd be that one."

The fact that it was the first on the list, and underlined at that, only served to emphasise his point.

"Can't hurt me if they haven't got their wands," she nodded slowly.

"Or if they can't move, which is why Stupefy should be next," he replied "Between those two, if it really came down to it you'd have...well, a better chance. If nothing else."

They all sounded a lot flashier than lifting a feather above her head, but far more useful too. Hopefully the importance of the spells would aid her learning more than hinder it.

"I also wanted to ask," he rubbed the back of his neck "Can I write to you?"

"Write?" She blinked.

"Oh - Hogwarts doesn't have phones. So that's how we communicate with our friends and our...our family," he couldn't quite meet her eye as he explained "You've seen the owls; they carry the letters back and forth."

Heather found herself unexpectedly moved by the turn the conversation had taken. Not just by his words, but by how visibly nervous he was. The boy had looked death in the face how many times? And yet she made him nervous.

"Of course you can," she said quickly, to put him out of his misery as swiftly as possible "Listen…"

If he was willing to risk an uncomfortable conversation or two for her, she'd return the favour.

"I know I haven't made much of a secret of the fact that I don't consider James and Lily to be my parents, but that doesn't mean I don't think of you as my brother. There are plenty of things that I'm stressed out about in this, er, _situation_ , but you're far from one of them."

Although he didn't quite breathe a sigh of relief, his shoulders dropped, and his fingertips stopped fiddling with the cuff of his sleeves.

"I never much wanted a sibling until I started Hogwarts," he admitted "I thought maybe they'd all be like my cousin, Dudley. Then I saw Ron with all of his and...well."

"I know what you mean," she nodded with a sigh "When I was a kid, when my dad was still alive, I lived in fear of Debbie somehow managing to get pregnant. Figured they'd have no use for me afterwards. Not that she was fond of me much to begin with. Then I'd see her nieces and nephews at family reunions, all thick as thieves. I suppose it just means we have some catching up to do."

"I don't think there's a guidebook for how long lost siblings are meant to go about things," he joked.

"I don't think there are any of half of the stuff you've accomplished," she shrugged "We'll manage."

"We will," he nodded, a small smile on his face "It's just a shame about the timing. Even if this had all happened just at the start of summer…"

"We have time," she reassured "We can write. Then there's Christmas. God knows what next summer will look like, but we can work something out. Before you know it we'll be bickering over the TV remote and who should get longer in the bathroom."

This earned her a full laugh. It was warming to see him go from unsure to comfortable so quickly, and she took it as a full indicator that they were on the right path already.

"I'm just grateful you're not a girl," she added "No need to worry about you stealing my clothes."

"Not 'til I'm more familiar with the bands on your t-shirts," he smiled.

"I'll write a list of my own," she returned it "We'll have you educated on real music in no time."

"Deal," he nodded.

* * *

It was 1am before she and Sirius crept their way down the stairs, not wanting to risk going any earlier in case they were heard. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on her at all - they were both grown adults, and they were sneaking around like grounded teenagers returning from a party. But that just made it more fun. Kneeling in front of Sirius, facing away from him and ready to risk her mane of hair just made her feel all the more ridiculous.

"Should I even ask why you have hair dyeing spells in your repertoire? Did you do a brief stint as a blond or something?"

"And interfere with my natural good looks? I should think not," he joked, before adding under his breath "The ones I used to have, anyway."

"And still do," she snorted.

In truth, she said the words before she'd even fully thought out how much of a good idea they would be. But in her mind they were more of a fact than an opinion. The sky was blue, rain was wet, and Sirius Black was handsome. If he didn't know it he was blind. His only reaction was the backs of his fingers lingering for a split second as he collected her hair so that it lay flat against her back. But she could've easily imagined it.

"This particular spell spread around Hogwarts like wildfire when I was there - I believe from _Witch Weekly_. Or something like it. The professors accepted it, albeit begrudgingly, because they decided if it increased an interest in charms, and in the practise of said charms, it was fairly harmless. Until Lucretia Eldritch turned up to Potions one morning with bright blue hair."

"Sounds like quite the look," she said.

"Always did have an abundance of Ravenclaw pride, that one," he replied.

She didn't understand what he meant by this, but she'd long grown used to only asking for clarification if it was truly important. Otherwise she'd be stopping everybody at every other word for an explanation, which would be exhausting for everybody involved. Sirius continued.

"Slughorn saw the funny side - the rest of the professors did not. They banned the spell, deciding it had gone too far."

"And that's when you decided to learn it."

"Solely on principle. You know me well," he chuckled "But now I'm glad I did. The author of that particular article specified in pieces targeted towards muggleborn witches. The author was one of the first big names to be murdered by Death Eaters during the first war...She included a charm that was supposed to strip muggle dye from hair - and I think I can just about remember it."

"' _Supposed to', 'think',_ and ' _just about'_ all in one sentence don't inspire much confidence."

"Look on the bright side - if it goes badly we have our entire time here to find a solution," he said brightly "Ready?"

"I've been in need of a new look anyway," she sighed "Go ahead."

But she didn't feel half as brave as she'd have him think. The choice had been a fairly easy one to make - risking a bad hairdo to give Sirius one last good day before what would undoubtedly be months of imprisonment, and she had no worries over any threat of real danger. He wouldn't attempt it if he thought she could be truly harmed. However, none of this meant she relished the idea of being bald, or ending up with feathers for hair, or whatever other frightful thing this spell could do to her. It was for this reason that she screwed her eyes tightly shut the moment she gave him the green light.

" _Morietur Periit_ ," the tip of the wand tapped gently atop her head.

The effect was immediate, like ice water seeping into her scalp to the extent that at first she feared she'd gone bald and the cold she was feeling was some sort of breeze. A gentle shake of her head had her hair brushing against her shoulders, thankfully dispelling that worry. But Sirius' silence did nothing to boost her confidence.

"Dear Merlin…" he muttered grimly.

"What? What happened?" Her eyes snapped open and her hands flew to her hair.

...Only to see her long locks hanging before her eyes, much unchanged, except for the fact that they were now red. He'd been fucking with her.

"You absolute bastard," she couldn't find any real aggravation amongst her pure relief, especially not with how contagious his laughter was.

"I couldn't resist," he laughed, but not unkindly "Do you really think I'd risk it if I thought you'd end up bald?"

"Well, my life's in your hands, I figure I might as well trust you with my hair too. Although the latter is far more important, of course."

It felt strange, seeing her natural colour after doing everything she could to hide it for almost a decade. It had started off as both an act of rebellion and one of self-preservation - she knew dyeing it dark would piss off Debbie, and being a redhead in the British school system was not a position to be envied. As she grew older it was a sort of happy accident that it just so happened to fit the overall "look" that went with her music. Then there was the fact that growing it out was more hassle than the upkeep - Scott's girlfriend was often more than happy to do her roots with what was left of her dye when she did her own touch-ups.

But, overall, the strangeness wasn't bad. Blinking at her reflection, she ran a hand through her hair and repressed a small, pleased smile.

"So what's the verdict?" She asked.

"You look lovely."

It was the sort of compliment she'd usually write off. Who wouldn't say the same to a friend under the same circumstances? But he didn't say it that way - as a brush off or a nicety - no, he spoke as if he wasn't even aware he was talking out loud, with such warmth and complete sincerity that she was completely caught off guard, and shook her out of the joking, teasing mindset she slipped into so easily around him. Why was it that being called "lovely" by him felt ten times more complementary than being called 'beautiful' or 'stunning' by anybody else? Not that such a thing was such a regular occurrence for her. Feeling her cheeks catch fire, she met his gaze in the mirror and failed to fight the daft smile that took over her face.

"Thank you," she hated how damn high her voice seemed to go "But, er, I meant do you think I could pass for a Weasley?"

" _Oh_ ," he gave a bashful chuckle, but that seemed to be the extent of his embarrassment "Yes, that too."

A silence threatened to settle over them before he continued quickly.

"Just avoid being seen tonight, or coming down too early in the morning tomorrow. The sooner anybody sees you, the longer they have to try and stop us."

"Can't have that," she ruffled a hand through her hair "What am I supposed to wear?"

"Everybody will be in muggle clothing - better for the journey. Although I'd avoid an excess of black. Might make you stand out a bit from the rest."

She snorted - it seemed he'd cottoned on to her signature style.

"I'd have thought you'd have approved of an excess of Black," she quipped.

Throwing his head back and giving a loud laugh, Sirius then shook his head in mock disgust "You made it this long without any 'Siriusly' puns and then you give me _that_? You're at risk of ruining my good opinion of you."

"Don't you lie - I'm _lovely_ ," she teased.

This earned her yet another brilliant smile. She told herself that she was imagining the hint of softness it betrayed.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Heather did own a few pieces of clothing that weren't black. A maroon jumper, some blue ripped jeans, a green scarf adorned with gold stars - she just so happened to usually wear them individually with an all-black outfit. So combining them all made her feel like she was wearing a rainbow in comparison to her usual outfits. But she had to admit, despite her discomfort, that it worked. Complete with her glasses, she wondered if Scott would even be able to recognise her, nevermind the Death Eaters. To complete the look, she lightly dotted freckles with her eyeliner pencil - one that was in rather sad shape - and couldn't help but smile in the mirror at the overall effect. Sirius was right, she'd be written off as a Weasley rather easily.

What caused her more trouble than her disguise was the matter of her sobriety - or lack thereof. She had four pills left. The stash hadn't lasted anywhere near as long as she hoped it would, but that was always the way. She was prone to overestimating her self-control when it came to them. At least she was self aware about that much. While she wanted to save her last high for the foreseeable future (or perhaps ever, given the dangers of her current situation), she was reminded of why she'd started taking them in the very beginning. To help her cope with her nerves. If getting up on stage sober was the only option, she doubted she'd have managed it at all. If the risk she was taking that morning was to pay off, she couldn't be standing on the platform looking as though she was about to jump out of her skin at any sudden noise or movement - especially if she had to pass as somebody who had spent her entire life around magic.

Then there was the fact that should things go south, it was a bit of a sad reality that she trusted herself to handle it better drugged than she might sober. Her anxieties had a way of wedging themselves between her and her instincts, and she couldn't afford that today. It was with a heavy sigh that she took them, and threw the empty tylenol bottle towards her yet to be unpacked luggage. So much for weaning herself off of them. The high hadn't even took hold yet and she was already dreading the withdrawals. But she wouldn't be withdrawing in front of Harry. The silver lining in her situation was a big one. By the time he was back from Hogwarts she'd be sober and well again.

As she plodded down the stairs she was reminded of the times she'd walked into her house as a teenager, knowing the school had called Debbie during the day about her bad grades, or her general lack of care. The kitchen was even more hectic than usual, with almost-forgotten school books, cauldrons, odd socks, and god knows what else being passed around to be packed last minute. This, she guessed, was the only reason it took everybody so long to notice her change in appearance.

But when they did, they really did. Luckily, Sirius had taken it upon himself to get up early that day (although she suspected he hadn't slept at all), so she wouldn't be fighting their corner alone. The first to see her was Hermione, whose eyes widened a little as she nudged Ron and nodded in her direction, who then did the same to Harry. Giving a small smile, she joined them at the table, determined not to say anything about her makeover until they brought it up. As harried as Molly was, coordinating everything while also dishing out breakfasts left right and centre, it was Arthur who spoke up first, doing a double take.

"Heather - I almost didn't recognise you there," this was what got Molly's attention.

"I- yes. You look…" Molly trailed off, the cogs turning.

"Like a Weasley," Sirius finished cheerfully - more cheery than she'd ever seen him, in fact - draining the last of his coffee from his mug.

There was a beat of silence, and then everybody began talking at once.

"For god's sake, Sirius, Dumbledore _told_ you-" Molly turned her ire to him.

"You're coming with us?" Harry turned his attention to her in the meantime, his expression caught between worry and hope.

"-I had hoped this responsibility would've made you more, well, _responsible_! But it seems that-" Molly was nowhere near finished as Sirius watched her tirade in unbothered silence.

"I am," Heather replied to her brother above the din, before raising her voice so all could hear her "It was my idea. I wanted to see Harry off, Sirius found a way to make it happen."

The claim got them only another brief second of silence before Molly continued, apparently resolute to pay her little mind after their 'talk' last night.

"-And now you have her covering for you! What Dumbledore was thinking I'll never-"

And then a distraction much better than the one she'd attempted presented itself in the form of Fred and George's suitcases sending their sister tumbling down the stairs.

Whether it was because of her awkward conversation with Molly the night before, or simply because the Order members had resigned themselves to not being able to stop Sirius once he put his mind to something, the commotion at the breakfast table was just about the only real resistance they encountered. As more members arrived they reacted to her makeover, and Sirius' dog form, with exasperated acceptance, as if they'd expected nothing less. Heather spent the time it took everybody to gather their luggage pretending that nerves weren't sinking in.

Surely everything would be fine. If it were truly, _truly_ unsafe the others would show some sign of it. She and Sirius would be genuinely banished from attending. Molly certainly wouldn't be walking her children into mortal peril; nor Harry for that matter. Whatever misgivings they may have had about each other, Heather would never deny that the woman was a stellar mother. When she was much younger she'd often daydream about having such a mum, especially after her dad passed and Debbie's coldness grew glacial. Fortunately for her (and perhaps unfortunately for Mrs Weasley's intentions the previous night) it was something she'd gotten over. Differences aside, however, she was happy that Harry seemed to have found it.

Speaking of happy, the change in Sirius the moment they were out the door was like night and day. Heather's biggest worry (besides Death Eaters, of course) had been how she could act naturally around 'Snuffles' knowing full well he was a grown man, but soon any concern was lost to attempts not to laugh as he terrorised pigeons, ran circles around them as they walked, and chased his tail. It was heartwarming to see their risk was worth it...Even if she spent the walk resisting the urge to look for Voldemort hiding in the bushes that they passed. Still, despite it all, she had to admit it was nice to have blue sky above her head rather than a dingy ceiling. And she and Sirius weren't the only ones who benefitted.

Harry's smile was wider than she'd ever seen it. Her presence couldn't be fully credited with that - nor Sirius' - it was obvious he was thrilled at the prospect of returning to Hogwarts. Perhaps now more than ever, after it was almost taken away from him by the Ministry. In hushed tones he spent the walk explaining to her how the first day usually went; the trolley and all the strange snacks it provided, the sortings, the Gryffindor common room...and then, almost as an after-thought, he mentioned how exactly they'd reach Platform 9 ¾.

"You're expecting me to walk into a wall?" She echoed.

"Well, kind of," he visibly fought a laugh at her tone.

"And how do I know this isn't some horribly elaborate prank?"

"Because it's not Fred and George telling you about it," he countered.

"We were going to show her to the wrong wall," Fred chimed in behind them.

"...Before we thought of the potential for injury," George added glumly.

She supposed the fact that this had made them reconsider was to be taken a sign that she was in their good books.

"Well, thanks for that," she laughed a little.

"Oh anytime, we save our _really_ malicious ideas for Ron."

"Or Percy, the pri-"

" _Fred_."

He stopped at the stern word from his mother, but Heather got the idea.

King's Cross station was busy as ever. It was familiar enough to her - in the event of her usual tube line being delayed she'd usually hop on a train to this station before changing to another line from there. But now she looked at it with new eyes. Now that she'd gotten to know them, it was pretty easy to pick out the magical folk, with fashion choices that she would've once written off as typical Londoner eccentricity now making more sense. After all, there was unique taste, and then there was wearing a lime green feather boa at ten in the morning.

But it was the particularly London brand of paying no attention to strangers that allowed them all to get away with so much, she supposed. Not only what they wore, but the fact that nobody seemed to notice swathes of people disappearing between platforms. They really weren't joking, she realised, as she noticed plenty of people disappearing behind the pillar for one platform and never reappearing again.

"All right, we'll go in groups. Nymphadora-" Mad-Eye addressed the group.

" _Tonks_."

"-and I first, then Ron and Hermione, then Harry and-"

"I'll go with Heather. Show her how to do it," Harry spoke up.

"Very well-"

Snuffles then barked before Mad-Eye could continue, causing the stern man to sigh "Yes, well I suppose it goes without saying that you'd join those two. Molly and Arthur will follow."

Heather's attention waned from there as the Auror continued to split them into groups, staggering their arrivals between teenagers and Order members so that nobody was left defenseless. Her more immediate concern was the wall staring her down. Of course she didn't doubt what she'd been told. There were stranger things in the Wizarding world than door-like walls. She just hoped it wasn't a similar case to the spells - that it only worked if they believed it would. But she didn't have much of a chance to worry about it.

When their turn arrived, Harry seemed to sense her nerves and linked his arm with her own so she had no choice but to keep pace. In front of them, Snuffles gave a soft 'boof' and then stretched out his front two paws before him, much in the same way a puppy who wanted to play might. Then he took off and they weren't far behind him. Her brother's idea to hold onto her had been a stellar one - they weren't dissimilar in height so she had no struggles keeping up, and as the wall drew nearer and nearer she knew if she stopped she'd probably send them both hurtling to the ground. So she kept going, heart pounding, and when the wall was almost at her nose she closed her eyes. Just as they'd all promised, the impact never came. When she opened her eyes, Harry gave her an amused smile and unlinked their arms, leading her to where the others already waited.

The platform was so busy she might as well have been worrying about being noticed on the tube at rush hour. Even those who did notice her would then glance at her company, then her hair, and visibly write her off as a Weasley before returning their attention to their luggage or their own family. Sirius was practically emanating smugness as he trotted along beside them in his canine form.

It was only when they were all together again and the Weasleys began the process of saying goodbye to their parents that Heather realised how truly painful this must've been for Harry to witness year in and year out, standing in the middle of a platform with hundreds of reminders of what he did not have surrounding him. She was glad she came. But none of this changed the fact that he was a teenage boy and, however extraordinary his circumstances may have been, teenage boys were frightfully easy to embarrass. So she hung back a little as Snuffles (which she constantly reminded herself to refer to him as, even mentally, to avoid a disastrous slip up) pranced around him, nipping at the hems of his clothing before springing up and placing two giant paws on either shoulder like a loyal hound who hadn't seen its master in months. It worked, too, for Harry went from visibly on-edge to laughing at the drop of a hat. Hugging the massive black dog, he scratched his head when he dropped back down to four paws, which she was amused to see 'Snuffles' lean into...and then they both turned their eyes to her.

Before she could consider what he'd be comfortable with in the way of a farewell, her brother pulled her into a bone-crushing hug which she quickly returned just as fiercely, closing her eyes when she felt tears threatening to build in them. Crying in front of others was something she found absolutely mortifying,

"I won't ask you to stay safe, because I don't imagine you're ever given much of a choice in the matter, but be _smart_ , you hear? Whatever bullshit that place throws at you this year, you stay clever, and you kick its ass."

"I was just about to say the same thing to you," he replied with a quiet laugh as they both pretended not to notice the other getting emotional "I'll see you at Christmas?"

He sounded more unsure of the fact than she suspected he'd intended to let on. Opening her eyes, the first person she made eye contact with was a blond boy standing some way down the platform, scrutinising them both. Behind him stood a man with hair of a matching colour, but much longer...the sight jogged her memory of Harry's questions concerning what her attackers had looked like, and when she saw he was watching her too (although doing a better job at hiding it than his son was), before his gaze flickered to the large black dog at their side, she let go and took a step back. So these were the infamous Malfoys.

It was only when she realised Harry was still waiting for an answer that she remembered he'd asked her a question at all.

"Of course," she nodded, giving his arm one last squeeze before letting go entirely "Maniacs with wands couldn't drive me away."

"All right, all right," Mad-Eye was interjecting now "It's three months, not three years. You don't want to miss the train."

The way his magical eye kept swivelling to the back of his head, in the direction of the Malfoys, was all too obvious to her. Harry's gaze flickered to them too, and understanding flooded his features immediately.

Giving her one last tense smile he then turned, with a great display of nonchalance, and said his goodbyes to the others. Heather hovered awkwardly on the spot as he did, determined not to give herself away any more than she already had, giving one last smile and wave to all of the teenagers as they climbed onto the train and the door slammed shut behind them. It was a surprisingly difficult thing to witness - not only because of the goodbye she was saying, but because she couldn't help but picture herself climbing onto the same train year after year, like she would've if she'd made a different decision. A better decision. Lips thinning, she bowed her head and tried to expel any self-pity before Harry could appear at one of the windows. Beside her, Snuffles whined and nudged her hand with his nose.

"I'm not petting you, it's too weird," she spoke quietly, and turned towards Remus as she spoke so any witnesses might think she was chatting to him.

The massive black dog gave a soft bark that sounded remarkably similar to his human laugh, nudging her hand again as if to provoke her.

"I'm buying you a muzzle for Christmas," she mumbled.

Remus chuckled in a way that suggested it wasn't the first time somebody had said such a thing to 'Snuffles', and she was sure she'd never seen a dog wag its tail quite so smugly. He had a right to his smugness, too, his attempt to cheer her up had worked and the smile she gave Harry, Ron, and Hermione as they waved from the window of their carriage was a little more genuine for it. It turned into full-blown laughter when Snuffles went bounding off after the train as it began to move, but she did her best to stifle that (if only because of Molly's presence).

"Should someone go after him?" She asked Remus.

"No, no, it'd look too suspicious," he said "Best just to wait until he comes back."

Heather wondered dryly if he would. Sirius' dread of the next three months was obvious. There must've been at least a small part of him that wanted to just keep running. The knowledge that Harry would be returning in three months was probably the only thing that had him willingly walking back into that house and locking the door behind him. When he did come trotting back, she scratched behind his ears despite herself. She pretended not to notice the sidelong looks they got when he leant into her hand.

The journey back to Grimmauld Place was far quicker and quieter, carried out with much more urgency too. Even she could see the temptation that any Death Eaters who _had_ recognised her would have to snatch her as she left the station. It was because of this that she, Remus, and Snuffles ducked into the first empty storage cupboard they came across, and apparated straight to the doorstep of the old house. Her heart raced the entire time, mentally replaying the debacle in the club. It wasn't until the door shut behind them that she stopped expecting hooded figures to ambush them.

After a beat of silence she regarded the two before gesturing to the stairs "I'm going to go change into something black."

She refused to get emotional over the brother she'd known less than a month in front of them.

* * *

"Before I go...You will be careful, won't you?"

Remus only spoke once they were in the living room, out of earshot of the upper levels.

"Oh, Merlin. Not you, too," Sirius fought to keep his voice low "So what, I flirted with a few girls back in my youth and now I'm some sort of lech just waiting to pounce at the first opportunity? What's next? Are you going to ban me from being around Tonks unchaperoned? Ginny and Hermione too, I expect?"

Remus looked like he wasn't quite sure whether to be amused or irked by his friend's miniature tirade.

"I'll have her refer to me solely as 'Mr Black' and insist on a four foot distance between us at all times," Sirius drawled finally "Will that do? Or shall I insist on five?"

"I should think six, but that's not quite what I was getting at," he replied teasingly now that he could get a word in edgeways "I just wanted to make sure you haven't got it in your head to disclose to her the story behind James and Lily's...final decision regarding her upbringing."

"I have to at some point," Sirius said immediately.

"That's just it, Sirius, you don't. Not really. Even if I agreed with your view of how it all happened, I'd think sharing it was a bad idea, especially considering it changes nothing. In fact, the only effects it could possibly have are negative ones! Molly's concerns-"

"Paranoia," Sirius corrected.

"Paranoia, then - the end results would be the same if either of our worries came to fruition. Heather would be at risk of losing the person she's clicked with most here. You've done great work with her, Sirius."

"Work? She's not a potions essay."

"And that is exactly the mindset that makes you best suited to watching over her. Whatever you wish to call it, it would be a shame to ruin it all because of a thoroughly misguided guilty conscience. James would've come to the same conclusion with or without you around - your input just made him feel comfortable voicing the thoughts he was already having. You know how stubborn he and Lily were. Had it not been what they wanted, things would have been thoroughly different."

"So you're a Legilimens now too?"

"No, just incredibly clever."

The joke succeeded in lightening the mood, but Remus kept his eyes fixed on Sirius, knowing he couldn't count on an agreement unless he explicitly said so.

"I won't bring it up myself," he compromised eventually "But if she broaches the topic, I won't lie."

His own words admittedly left a bit of a bad taste in Sirius' mouth. He knew Remus would take it as a win due to Heather's usual avoidance of anything to do with her real parents, but the compromise itself felt selfish for that very reason. The only concept he relished less than keeping this particular truth from her, was once where he was removed from her good books. And he was still determined to pretend, even to himself, that this was solely for selfless reasons.


	12. Chapter 12

The first day of their solitary confinement went fairly smoothly - much in the same way that the first mile or so of a marathon would go smoothly. The willpower and the good intentions were there, so they practised magic until 'Incendio' no longer sounded like a word at all, they ate dinner together and pretended the kitchen didn't feel unsettlingly quiet, and by the time they retired Heather was even kidding herself that she wasn't jonesing for a fix. She was out of cigarettes by dawn.

When Sirius failed to rise for breakfast she thought nothing of it. She didn't even particularly want to be awake at that time, and with no appetite thanks to the swiftly approaching withdrawals, she spent the morning plucking at the piano in the living room. Naively, she'd assumed that the layer of dust on it meant it would be out of tune, but it seemed this one was able to tune itself...or couldn't fall out of tune to begin with. Magic never ceased to amaze her, even if she could practically hear her dad ranting about how being able to tune one's own instrument was a fundamental part of being a musician. When she began to take a real interest in music, he hadn't rested until she was capable of fully dismantling a guitar before putting it all back together, better than before.

Lunch came and went and she began to suspect all was not well with her host, but she distracted herself with mental laments over her failure to make her cigarettes last longer. Heather passed the time between then and dinner scouring her luggage for any pills she might have forgotten about. No such luck. It was as she forced down a slice of bread for dinner (the stove required magic, and she'd be damned if she asked Kreacher to make her anything - her appetite had yet to make an appearance, anyway) that she began to wonder if she should check on Sirius. She'd wanted to do so earlier than this, but kept away out of fear of being a demanding guest. If he wanted time to himself then she could hardly blame him. But she also didn't want him to feel alone. It was with this in mind that she ascended the stairs, ignoring the ache beginning to build in her limbs, and hovered outside his door, listening carefully for any signs of life - a cough, footsteps, anything. Nothing.

Raising a hand, she knocked softly before she could talk herself out of it. Nothing. This presented her with a dilemma. In her low moments she knew full well there were times when she was best left alone, and times she had to be reminded that somebody out there gave a shit. She didn't quite know Sirius well enough to be able to discern those moments for herself, but she did know that soon the withdrawals would take a real hold and she'd end up similarly bundled in her bed, pretending the outside world didn't exist. It would be best if she made some kind of gesture before she became incapable.

So, dearly hoping she wasn't about to compromise his privacy, she turned the doorknob and, upon finding it unlocked, stepped into the room. The only light in the room was that which managed to bypass the curtains - not a lot, considering the sun was fast setting. Sirius formed a lump under the covers and didn't stir at her entrance. Gathering her courage, she padded around the bed to the side he lay on, crouched down and gently clasped his shoulder. He jerked awake. At first his face was a pciture of alarm, eyes wide and searching for the next threat, but then he seemed to comprehend the sight of her and any spark of fright (or anything else, really) left his eyes as he sank back into reality, deflating only when he seemed certain that there were no enemies hiding in the corner waiting for his guard to drop. .

"Heather?" He rasped, squinting blearily around the room "What's wrong?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," she replied softly.

He gave a mirthless imitation of a smile "Nothing. M'fine. Just need to sleep."

Heather was fast realising why Scott would often look so concerned in her presence on the rare occasion she'd manage to drag herself out when the grey days seeped in. This man wasn't the one who she'd gotten to know in her time here so far. Sirius might have been there physically, but in reality he was not. Not in the ways that truly mattered.

He wouldn't quite meet her gaze as she stayed where she was, his eyes flickering to her face every now and then but otherwise more focused on the covers of his bed. When it became clear he didn't plan on saying anything else she made up her mind. The moment she stood up he slumped back down into the bed, but rather than leave the room she skirted around the large wooden bed frame, knocking over an empty bottle she hadn't noticed as she did. It was with a tinge of sadness that she realised she wasn't the only one who had a hidden stash...but it also made her feel a little better. Their demons were startlingly alike. Perhaps this meant that the remedies would also be similar. It was better than doing nothing, anyway.

When the bed dipped with her weight as she lowered herself down to the free side, he turned just enough to see what she was doing, before letting out a sigh that told her he was quickly losing his patience.

"Heather, I'm in no mood to talk."

"Well that's good because I'm in no mood to listen," she said lightly "Don't worry, I'm not trying to compromise your virtue."

The remark, which would usually earn her a snort or at the very least a smirk, was greeted with nothing but silence. As if she needed any more confirmation that he wasn't himself. He watched her with a guarded expression as she slipped her legs beneath the covers and fought to make the pillows a little more comfortable. Only when there was no more fiddling to be done, and the strange look didn't let up, did she sigh and address him - even if she wasn't quite able to make eye contact as she did.

"I'm not leaving you alone when you're like this. I may as well not be here if I just let you lie here alone, convincing yourself that nobody gives a shit."

Any snarky response he might have had planned died on his lips, and she looked him in the eye now, fixing him with her best knowing look. After a moment his mouth snapped shut and he gave a sigh and slumped back down beneath the covers. Suspecting it was as close to a victory as she was going to get that day, Heather copied his actions, turning to face the opposite direction and resolutely ignoring the fierce ache that was beginning to set in her bones. So far all sobriety had achieved was reminding her of why she'd avoided it for so long. The suffering would really begin in the morning - from her previous times braving the withdrawals, she could remember that the suffering really tended ramp up from 'mild discomfort' to 'Jesus Christ give me a fix' at the forty-eight hour mark. She was in for a fun morning. Not as fun as it would be a day later, though, when she'd really be wishing for death.

However, they also happened to be a blessing in disguise. In this one situation, at least. As preoccupied as she was with her discomfort, her mind didn't have much energy left to worry about whether she'd just royally pissed off Sirius. He was a grown man, and a forward one at that. If he had a real problem with her presence, she was sure he'd make it clear. Curling up, she allowed the heat of the blankets (aided by Sirius' body heat) to seep in and take the edge off of the chills. It was a good thing she'd sought him out when she did, for now she could focus on resting knowing she'd done what she could.

Around a half hour passed with neither of them moving until Heather was just lapsing into sleep when she became aware of Sirius shifting slowly behind her. Eyes closed and still unmoving, she listened as he sighed softly and then murmured so quietly she had to strain to hear him.

"Thank you."

Strongly suspecting he'd purposely waited until he thought she was asleep, Heather kept her eyes closed and remained still. It wasn't long before she really was sleeping.

* * *

While none of the symptoms were much loved by Heather, the nightmares in particular were something she hadn't looked forward to. Even more now that they had ample fuel. They chopped and changed each time she woke and drifted off again, but they always contained the same cast - like a troupe of actors performing in different plays. Harry on the stage of the club, the Death Eaters' wands at his throat as they demanded she step forward or watch her brother die. A knock sounding on the front door of Grimmauld Place, only for it to open and reveal Voldemort himself (what she imagined him to look like, anyway) before he began to fling curses at her. Sirius deciding he was too sick of his surroundings to remain any longer, making a bid for freedom and being captured for his efforts - by the Ministry or by the Death Eaters, it didn't matter - the moment he stormed out of the door. By the time she opened her eyes to be greeted with morning light piercing through the curtains, it was a relief to be confronted with the physical symptoms if it meant a brief break from the mental warfare her mind was waging.

And boy, had the physical symptoms set in. Over the course of the night a layer of cold sweat had worked its way across her entire body, her limbs ached down to the bone as if she'd just climbed a mountain, and even the small amount of light that did manage to bypass the curtains was like needles piercing her eyes. Groaning, she then forced herself to be silent, sitting up just a little and turning her head to see if she'd disturbed Sirius. But the bed was empty. Well, shit. Maybe her little plan hadn't been quite as successful as she'd hoped.

Sitting up, she raked a hand through the hair that had come loose from her ponytail in the middle of the night in an effort to get it off of her face. That was when she heard the creaking of the stairs, along with a strange kind of rattling. Thinking it was Kreacher out to collect more souvenirs when Sirius' room was supposed to be empty, her heart sank as she tried to think up a reasonable excuse as to why she'd be in his bedroom. The House-elf would have a field day with this, that was certain. There was a thud against the door, and when the handle started to turn she shoved herself off of the bed and did her best to make herself look a little less dishevelled. The door opened and she scrambled for an excuse for her presence...and then Sirius stepped into the room and she sank back onto the bed with a sigh of relief.

"Ah good, you're up. I made us breakfast," he nodded to the tray he carried that boasted two plates and two massive mugs of coffee "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I thought you were Kreacher," she winced as she brought her legs beneath her.

"An easy mistake to make, I suppose," he teased.

He was joking, but the usual sparkle in his eye had dulled noticeably. Still, it was more of a victory than she could've hoped for. Depression could hardly be cured by one little show of solidarity, and she had to be grateful that it had done enough to prompt him into even attempting to drag himself out of it. Even though she doubted she was due all of the credit, it was a massive relief to see. After setting the tray on the bed he crossed to the window and opened the curtains. Heather narrowed her eyes and did her best to keep her gaze fixed in the opposite direction.

"Are you feeling better?" She asked, lifting one of the mugs from the tray and doing her best to summon an appetite.

"Much," he fidgeted uncomfortably after sitting down "I'm, er, sorry about yesterday. We haven't the time for me to behave that way...and I was rather rude to you."

"You don't owe me any apology," she shook her head "You couldn't help it."

He blinked at her.

"Don't forget I'm more than familiar with those demons. The cause might be different but the symptoms are, uh, shockingly similar," she shrugged "I was just worried I'd piss you off by barging in like that."

"Not at all," he shook his head "I couldn't hope for a lovelier intruder."

There was that word again. _Lovely_. She couldn't help but wonder if he knew its meaning, but her cheeks blazed all the same. But before she could dwell on it he was continuing, squinting at her.

"Are you sure you're alright? You look very pale."

"I'm always very pale," she deflected.

In an attempt to show just how fine she felt she placed her coffee on the nightstand and began to eat her breakfast...which might've been an easier task if the thought alone of food didn't make her stomach turn.

"Yes, but…" he hesitated and then shook his head, beginning to pick at his own plate "No matter. We can go back to your lessons today. The Disarming Charm might be tricky with only one wand, but I suppose it'll work if I hold a butter knife or something."

"I wonder if that's what the papers had in mind when they called you armed and dangerous," she teased.

"Capable of spreading jam on toast in a simple swipe," he gave a dry laugh, but it wasn't the usual bark she'd grown accustomed to.

"That's impressive," she played along.

"After that, well," he paused suddenly, a light bulb practically lighting up above his head "How would you like to meet Buckbeak? It seems about time the two of you were introduced."

"The Hippogriff?"

"The Hippogriff," he nodded as if he was talking about a dog or a cat "It'll be fine, just do as I say and he'll take to you in no time."

"Laugh at my shock all you want, but how would you like it if I suggested introducing you to my pet unicorn over breakfast?"

Sirius blinked "I'd ask you how you managed to build a rapport with such a shy and elusive creature."

"You're shitting me," she snorted "Unicorns too?"

"Unicorns too. Many seek their blood for all manner of dark purposes."

"Well, shit," she mused, tearing another small strip from her bacon "All right. So long as you can promise I won't lose a hand or something."

"Maybe only the left one," he teased.

"If only there were one-handed guitars," she replied.

"You know you still haven't told me what exactly caused that terrible atmosphere between you and Molly."

Heather made a face. It was the sort of thing she could have laughed about over a glass of Firewhisky in the wee small hours, but in broad daylight when she was already having to resign herself to reality being, well, real, the whole Molly situation just felt equal parts annoying and embarrassing.

"All right, mild disclaimer - I could've definitely handled it more….uh...better."

She never considered herself to be the most eloquent soul, but she was really reaching new heights of terrible communication skills at that moment. Maybe she could write him a song about what happened. That had always been more her speed.

"Noted," he was visibly fighting an amused smile - one that seemed genuine to her.

"Well, she came into the room and she explained that while she could kinda sorta understand the feelings behind our secret illicit affair-"

"Yours and mine or yours and Molly's?"

A very unattractive laugh burst forth from her mouth at that, the mood successfully lightened - a particular talent of Sirius', it seemed.

"Mine and Molly's, we were discussing how to break the news to her children."

"One at a time, I suppose," he shrugged "Although it might be best to tell Arthur first."

"See, that was where we disagreed, I didn't want to tell him at all. Thought he might take it badly," she countered "But as for _our_ secret affair - yours and mine - she told me that while she 'understood' the 'temptation', pursuing such a thing would be _unwise_ , if only because it would never be conceivable under literally any other circumstances."

Sirius' face went from amused to expressionless at this, betraying none of his thoughts on the matter at all.

"And what did you say?" He asked eventually.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Heather avoided his gaze, her voice lowering to a mumble "I told her that such a thing wouldn't be much of her business."

For a moment there was a silence that gnawed at her so badly she began to wonder if she'd said the right thing, but then Sirius began to laugh - his real laugh at that, even if his weariness was still etched across his features - and she let the tension drain from her limb, joining in with his laugh quietly. She'd have to apologise to Molly at some point. Not for the point she'd made, but the way she'd made that point, if only for the sake of the peace around here. The last thing she wanted was to make their Christmas awkward. Having them all under the impression that she was involved in some illicit affair with Sirius would be bound to do that, too, she supposed.

"Yes, now I can see why she wasn't best pleased with you," he sighed when he was done, a few chuckles shaking his shoulders as aftershocks of his amusement "Although you'd better hope that word doesn't get back to Harry. I'd rather not lose any particularly precious body parts to whatever to an unfortunate hexing incident."

They were on the same wavelength with that worry, at least.

"Nah, it's fine. I already told Harry I don't date," she tried to gloss over the point quickly by continuing "And anyway, he idolises you. Anybody could see that. I'm sure your body parts are all quite safe - I'll say a prayer for them or something though, just in case."

"You don't strike me as the praying type."

"Oh I'm not, you should consider yourself honoured."

"'Hello God, nice to meet you, Heather here, please watch over Sirius Black's bollocks,'" he laughed "I'm sure that'll go over well."

"On the off-chance that he's up there I think he'd be touched by such a heartfelt plea. You're welcome," she replied.

Sirius shook his head with a smile, sighing and looking around the room in a begrudging sort of fashion "Well, if the only thing we can do is get your magic up to scratch, I suppose we had better do it well."

"If you're going to do something, you might as well do it properly," she nodded in agreement.

If Sirius could drag himself kicking and screaming from the throes of depression to teach her, she could wrench her mind away from her own symptoms to learn. In a grim sort of way their problems could even save them from one another's prying - he'd be too focused on fighting off the depression to notice her shivering, and she'd be too focused on pretending she didn't have the plague to prod him too much on how he was feeling. Everybody won because everybody was losing. Good times.

After breakfast Heather left Sirius to get changed and did so herself, finding the baggiest Guns n' Roses shirt she owned with a pair of sweatpants almost as old as her. There was no way she was putting herself through the trauma of jeans that day. Once she was ready she shot a final mournful look towards the bed. The withdrawal process was never fun, but the other times she had the advantage of being able to curl up in bed more or less until it passed, with nobody to notice, nor pass comment. Sure, if she told Sirius she wasn't feeling well she doubted he'd begrudge her resting up, but that only guaranteed his concern. Then there was the matter of Voldemort. If she was going to have any chance at proving to the others that she'd be able to defend herself by Christmas, she couldn't exactly afford to take days off. She doubted the Death Eaters were out there taking leisurely weekends away from their cause...although the thought of them blowing off their master in order to spend a day at the beach, formidable robes and all, did bring a smile to her face.

It wouldn't be the best of lessons. She couldn't reasonably expect it to be revolutionary - neither their hearts would really be in it. The fight Sirius was facing would produce the same results as her sickness; it was like going to school or work with a bad headache. Sure, they could go through the motions of getting the work done, and maybe even make a few small achievements, but the passion and focus wouldn't be there, and therefore nor would the results said passion and focus tended to produce. But it was better than lying in bed and fantasising about death...or worrying about the masked lunatics eager to dole it out.

By the time she got to the sitting room, the coffee table was gone and the two sofas had been pushed back to create a clear space in the middle of the room. The fireplace remained unlit, probably to avoid any unfortunate wand scorching.

"We're going through this one before the Stunning Spell because that's a little more advanced," Sirius explained, handing her an ornate silver letter opener "But once you've got both in your arsenal, I'd advise almost always going for stunning over disarming."

" _Almost_ always?"

Sirius made a face "It's like anything - a lot of the time it comes down to a judgement call. Sometimes, if you're lucky, the choice will be an obvious one. Unfortunately that's rather rare."

Heather nodded slowly and he continued.

"Say...somebody has a knife to your throat. Do you disarm them or stupefy them?"

"Disarm," she replied quickly.

Sirius smiled "Why?"

"Depending on how they fall after being paralysed they could do some real damage on the way down. Best case scenario, I disarm now, stun after."

"Good," he nodded in approval "But bear in mind that in the heat of battle it'll be more difficult to think the situation through. It's more snap judgement than anything else - your opponent won't be waiting patiently while you sit back and decide what to do. Even worse, it might not even be just your own life on the line. What if the same opponent has a knife to your throat while another has one to your friend's?"

She only realised he'd been more making a point than asking a real question once she'd already answered.

"Disarm the one that has my friend."

Sirius gave a sort of empty smile, as if he suspected she was just trying to sound heroic or gallant - probably naively so, at that. But when he looked at her face and found no trace of pomp or ego, he fixed her with a thoughtful look before his smile turned sad.

"Forgive me, I shouldn't have laughed," he shook his head "It's just...well, that'll teach me to forget whose daughter you are."

Heather gave a thin lipped half-smile. Neither of them were in a state for that debate - as tired and old as it was getting - and while she didn't have any interest in chasing after the approval of the long-dead James, she couldn't fault Sirius for remembering his best friend. Thankfully, he made a quick effort to change the subject.

"Now, don't fall into the trap of thinking that because your opponent is disarmed, they're no longer a threat. There are some who manage to become rather proficient in wandless magic, and then there's always the muggle ways of causing harm. Generally speaking, though, plenty of Death Eater idiots are useless without their wands."

Heather nodded, trying her best to absorb everything he was telling her as quickly as possible. The chill she had to physically steel her body against showing made it difficult, though.

"It's a fairly simple one in terms of the mechanics of the whole thing," Sirius continued "There's not much time for fancy, over-complicated gestures if you need to disarm someone quickly."

Pointing the wand at her, he said the spell and the letter opener was flying from her hand before she even realised what was happening. Blinking in surprise, she watched as it darted across the room, clanged against the wall and fell to the floor.

"Fairly simple, right?" He asked.

"Right," Heather echoed.

* * *

It was not fairly simple. After the fifth failed attempt, Heather did her best to keep her spirits up. How long had her first spell taken her? Five attempts was nothing. After the tenth, she was becoming more and more distracted by the sensation of a drill being pressed directly into her temple. Sirius' optimism lasted longer than her own - that or he hid the fact that it was dwindling far better than she could - but somewhere between the tenth and twentieth failed attempt, she noticed how his focus was less on her technique and more on her face.

It was on attempt number twenty-seven that he stopped her.

"Heather, you're really not well," his brow furrowed in concern.

"I'm fine," she protested "I don't know why I'm not getting it, maybe I just need a breather or-"

"You're white as a sheet - it's no wonder your magic is working, you can barely stay upright," he refused to be fooled any longer

Torn between insisting there was nothing wrong, and brushing it off as a cold, she was saved the trouble of deciding between the two by the next wave of dizziness that threatened to send her straight on her ass. Red, black, and white spots danced in front of her vision and she reached blindly for one of the sofas, remembering a second too late that they'd been pushed back. But Sirius, ever true to form, was there quickly, seizing hold of her by the arm and taking his wand from her hand in order to bring one of the sofas whooshing towards them.

Whether it was her subconscious finally accepting that the jig was up and taking it as an opportunity to give up the fight against showing the symptoms, or whatever sick god up there just laughing at her by making them worse in that moment, the streaks of pain that began to work their way through her abdomen made sure any excuses died on her lips. It was like her internal organs were all shutting down at once, and if she hadn't been through it before, she'd have been certain she was dying. The knowledge that she'd probably survive, however, wasn't much of a silver lining if it meant feeling like this indefinitely.

Jaw clenched, she felt pathetic as she clung to Sirius to avoid crumpling to the ground, letting go only once he'd helped her sit so that she could curl her arms around her abdomen as though it might stem the pain.

"Heather, what is this? What's wrong? Do you need a healer - a doctor?"

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity - to say ' _yeah, sure, let's go find a walk-in centre and hope Voldemort has a real fear of GPs and sample jars_ ' but Sirius didn't deserve it.

"It'll pass," was what she whimpered instead "It'll pass, it'll pass."

Maybe she should've told him. Tagged it onto their last little heart-to-heart, even - 'Hey, I'm riddled with anxiety and depression but don't worry! I've been self-medicating for years. Speaking of self-medication, I'll soon be reenacting the withdrawal scene from _Trainspotting_ so that should add some zest to our imprisonment, hey?". No, lengthening the list of demons she'd presented him with would've been too much. Sure, maybe it would've been enough to finally set ablaze his far-too-high opinion of her - the one he only had because of who her biological father happened to be. No more dazzling smiles levelled at her whenever she entered the room, no more knowing smirks across the dinner table whenever somebody said something they both found funny, no more always looking at her like she'd just thrown him the best surprise birthday party ever. He'd finally see the real her. And maybe that was why she hadn't told him. It had been nice, fooling herself into thinking maybe she could even be a shadow of the person he seemed to think she was. Was it so selfish to want to bask in that just a little longer? Probably. In truth, it had been a long time since she had to make a decision where somebody other than herself had to factor into her plans. Around Darren, she usually had to fight to make sure her well-being was even a passing concern. Maybe it was surviving around the likes of him that had trained her into selfishness.

But it wasn't some grand-scale manipulation plot. Once Sirius discovered the truth her lessons were bound to get awkward, if they even continued at all, but that was hardly why she wanted to remain in his good graces. No, that was always more about what she would lose rather than what she might fail to gain. She was a liar, yes, and a coward, definitely, but not a manipulator and certainly not a user. Not of people, anyway.

When the agony in her abdomen finally began to cease, she slowly uncurled, slumping back against one of the armrests.

"Even if it's something muggle doctors can't heal, our medical care is different. There are all manner of potions, spells...I can write to Dumbledore and he can have somebody sent - somebody trustworthy - to take a look at you," Sirius pressed once he seemed satisfied she had a moment of coherence upon her.

It was a tempting thought. One little potion and all of the badness would go away. But wasn't that the sort of thinking that had gotten her into this mess in the first place? And what if she owned up to what was really going on, only to find out there was nothing the wizards could do?

"It looks worse than it is," she tried to offer a reassuring smile, as if she wasn't covered in a thin layer of cold sweat "It passes, I'll be fine."

"This is an ongoing thing?"

"More or less," it wasn't exactly a lie.

"That's just all the more reason to let us help. We could cure this, Heather," he insisted.

"You know the saying 'sometimes the only way out is through'?" She asked "I get through this bout, I'll be fine. If it happens again after this, you can write to whoever you like."

That little promise should give her future self ample reason to stay sober, should temptation come knocking. She had just enough optimism left to hope that that would be enough.

"I'm sorry for ruining the lesson," she sniffed, hugging her arms to herself to try to ward off the shakes.

"I think I can find it in my heart not to give you detention."

He sat at the end of the sofa she was curled up on, eyes slowly roving across the room, dissatisfaction already brewing in his features. So much for cheering him up. Grip tightening on her arms, she closed her eyes and did her best to rally herself. Maybe if she could pull herself together quickly enough they could have the Disarming Charm down by the end of the day. She just needed a few minutes to ride out the worst of it, and then she'd force herself up again. Fifteen minutes, tops. Maybe twenty.

She was asleep within ten.

* * *

When Heather woke up it was with a groan, already missing the reprieve unconsciousness provided from her symptoms. Then the fact that she'd fallen asleep really sank in and she jumped up with a start, half expecting to find Sirius curled up in his bed, entirely catatonic. Instead, her foot connected with his leg before her eyes had even fully opened. Cursing, Sirius dropped the piece of parchment he'd been holding, hand grabbing hold of her ankle to prevent any more attacks.

"Uncomfortably close to damaging precious body parts there, Heather," he griped, but without much genuine ire.

"I was nowhere near your face," she countered, feeling triumphant when it earned her a laugh "What are you reading?"

She drew her legs beneath her, noticing but not commenting on the blanket that had been draped over her while she slept. Warm afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the window - she must've been out for a good few hours.

"A letter from Harry," he didn't sound too pleased.

"Bad news?"

"The Ministry is sinking its claws into Hogwarts - which is to be expected, after the way they behaved this summer...Merlin forbid they focus on the real problem. And he got into trouble for fighting with Draco Malfoy," there was that proud tone again.

"He's been there for what? Two days? What could they possibly have to fight over already?"

"I can't be sure - it's all very vague, which is clever, they'll be keeping a close eye on him...From what I gather the little git said some less than pleasant things about you."

"About me? He shouldn't be getting into fights over- wait. Why would he be talking about me? Unless…"

"That's the bad news," Sirius sighed "It seems our disguises may not have been as foolproof as we'd hoped."

The weight of the very real danger they'd been in settled itself directly in the centre of her chest. It had been one thing when she was able to convince herself nobody on that platform had a single clue who she really was. Looking back on it, though - on how she'd brushed off the worries of the others and essentially been a sitting duck because of it...well, Heather suddenly felt very very small.

"He shouldn't be getting into bother over me," she said quietly, if only to disguise her fear.

"You still don't understand," it was said kindly, with no judgement.

Heather said nothing, watching him silently as he visibly thought through how best to phrase his next words.

"Not long after we first found you, when the Order was insisting that Harry stayed away for the time being, I was the only one arguing that he should be allowed to go and see you. There were lots of arguments, lots of shouting...I don't think I've ever seen him so visibly _upset_ by something as when the Order insisted it was out of the question. It was on one such night, after a particularly bad argument about it, that he told me a story from his first year at Hogwarts. Have you heard of the Mirror of Erised?"

Heather shook her head.

"I didn't think so. It's a magical mirror, it shows whatever your heart desires most - riches, fame, glory. Anything. It was briefly housed in Hogwarts before Dumbledore could find it a more fitting home, and Harry stumbled across it one night. It could've shown him anything...Voldemort dead, a home that wasn't a wretched cupboard, himself as Quidditch Captain. All perfectly reasonable things for an eleven year old to pine after."

"What did he see?"

"His family, standing by his side. James and Lily. Of course, he didn't know of your existence at the time, but when he told me this story he made it very clear that if he had, he'd have seen you in that mirror too. He spent nights in front of that mirror, staring into it. He'd never even seen them before - his sorry excuse for an aunt and uncle hadn't bothered to show him."

The story, and the mental image it produced of a young Harry staring into a mirror, wishing for a family, was like a punch in the gut.

"Nothing can give him James and Lily. But now he has a small fraction of what he saw in that mirror. What do you think he'd do to protect it?"

Heather hadn't experienced many occasions where she'd been truly speechless. There had been times there were plenty of things she wanted to say but couldn't, and there had been even more times where she simply didn't care enough about what was going on to speak up. But now? Now she had no words. Harry's story was a tragic one. It didn't take a genius to know that. He had more on his shoulders than a hundred teenagers put together could collectively cope with, they were _all_ painstakingly aware of that. But the story Sirius had just told her hit differently. It brought home the reality of a child without a family - shit, without any affection. Even she'd had her dad, before he passed.

The tears sprang to her eyes entirely of their own accord, and far too quickly for her to do anything about them. Normally she'd be mortified. She didn't cry in front of people - ever. Not since she was a kid. But she'd be damned if what Sirius had just told her didn't break her damn heart.

Plastering one hand over her mouth as if it would help physically hold back the sob rising in her throat, her vision was too blurred to see Sirius but she knew he'd noticed what was happening when he gave a sigh and extended an arm towards her.

"I wasn't trying to upset you. Come here."

She wasn't sure what surprised her more - how quickly she gave into the sobs, or how readily she accepted the comfort he offered. It was the withdrawals. It had to be. They were making her a tired, emotional mess, and now she was crying like a pathetic idiot while Sirius pulled her to him, resting his chin atop her head.

"I don't know why I'm getting so damn emotional," she sniffed.

Well, she had an inkling. It had been a long few weeks - combined with a less than stellar state, both physically and mentally, and the emotions that were clawing to get out of her...it was a wonder she hadn't been reduced to hysterics over dinner long before everybody left.

"I'd be more concerned if you were entirely unfazed," Sirius said, rubbing lazy circles on her back.

"If that shitty aunt and uncle of his could've just managed a bit of kindness," she said bitterly "It's a disgrace. If they ever run into me, they'll end up wishing they hadn't."

"He has us now."

"That doesn't make it right."

"I know," Sirius sighed "I know. If it's any consolation, he feels much the same way about the muggle woman who took you."

"I had my dad," she murmured "Then I had my music. Then Scott, briefly. I got by fine."

"We're fighting for a life that'll be so much better than getting by. Until then, you have us now, too."

Ordinarily she'd have laughed off such a sincere statement - not out of callousness, she wasn't a total bitch - she just didn't do well with _feelings_. Not talking about them, not feeling them...putting them in song form, sure, but that was different. Maybe it was a childhood around Debbie, where tears were punished as if they were curse words. Or maybe it was years spent on the music scene, where sincerity was only cool if it rhymed and was paired with a riff. Shit, maybe it was the sobriety that always had the effect of having her question every statement and its potential to make her sound stupid before she'd let herself say it. Somewhere along the way, the difference between stupidity and vulnerability got blurred.

Sirius Black had an uncanny knack for un-blurring those lines. It was his absolute unwavering sincerity in any given situation, she suspected. It was hard to be insecure or self conscious around somebody so unwaveringly sincere. She had a feeling he'd be more offended by her trying to cover up her true feelings than if she were to wear them on her sleeve. So she didn't laugh it off, and she didn't abruptly change the subject. It'd be difficult to do while she still tried to fight back tears, anyway.

"We all have each other," she murmured "The one good thing to come from this."

Sirius hummed in agreement, but said nothing more. Heather closed her eyes in an effort to keep the tears at bay, and before she knew it she was drifting back into sleep, feeling contented despite the tears and despite the sickness. If she were in a better frame of mind, she might've known it wouldn't last long.

* * *

Sirius Black was in trouble...which was something he was rather used to. This particular brand of trouble, however, was entirely unique. Not because it involved a woman, but because of _the_ woman it involved. She wasn't like Harry - there were traces of both James and Lily there, but she wasn't like a living image of one or the other come back to haunt him. He loved Harry like he was his own son, but looking at him could be painful at times. It was a sort of sick joke that he only wished looking at Heather was a little more unpleasant. If he absolutely had to choose which of her two parents she resembled most, he would've said James, but that was before he'd had the brilliant idea to revert her back to her natural hair colour. Now she was firmly lodged in the middle ground, and making it a category all of her own. The fact of the matter was, the more he got to know her, the more he _saw_ her.

The twist of her lips if she heard something she disliked but wasn't in a mood to argue no longer belonged to Lily, and the glimmer in her eye when she thought of something funny to say that wasn't entirely appropriate to voice was no longer James'. Somewhere along the way she stopped being James' daughter, and started being Heather. Beautiful, funny, charming, kind Heather who climbed into his bed despite how he snapped at her, just so he wouldn't feel alone. Or maybe there was always a strong streak of that ever since he'd struck up a conversation with her in that club, and now that streak was winning. Or perhaps, as the cold and cynical voice in his head was so fond of whispering to him when the colour in the world gave way to grey, Molly Weasley was right and he was a miserable old lech who'd gone so long without the company of an eligible young woman that he was now imagining sparks where there were none with the first one that came along...in the tightest leather trousers known to mankind.

It didn't matter - the end result was the same. Him, with entirely inappropriate thoughts about a woman who probably thought of him as some kind of odd uncle at best. Okay, so maybe not quite an uncle. Cynicism or no, he knew in his gut he wasn't imagining the spark between the two of them. Merlin knew he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a pang of disappointment when she said she didn't "date". Which was ridiculous in itself - what was he going to do, take her out for dinner? A leisurely stroll around the kitchen, perhaps? Molly might've misinterpreted his intentions, but she had one thing write (however much he loathed to admit it) and that was that he'd be no good for Heather. Even if she wasn't James' daughter, he was an ex-con sixteen years her senior who had been robbed of both his good looks and any semblance of a functional life by Azkaban. Better she work things out with Scott and run off into the sunset with him. Perhaps not too long from now she'd be falling asleep on his shoulder instead. He pretended not to feel the surge of jealousy that threatened to bubble up at the thought. It would be for the best. Trying to move as little as possible, Sirius summoned the bottle of Firewhisky into his hand with the wave of his wand.


End file.
